


The Return to Baskerville

by PeaJay



Series: Mind the Gap [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bamf! Lestrade, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Established Relationship, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson Whump, John Whump, M/M, Post-The Hounds of Baskerville, Rimming, Sexual Content, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaJay/pseuds/PeaJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John return to Baskerville to have another look around. They find a lot more than they bargain for. Especially John, who is kidnapped and brutally tortured.</p>
<p>Graphic violence.<br/>Part of the Mind the Gap series but can be read as a stand alone fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them. 
> 
> The events of this story begin directly following the end of The Hounds of Baskerville episode from Series 2 Sherlock. 
> 
> Although part of the Mind the Gap series, this story can be read as a stand alone story.

John sat at the picnic table in silence, turning over in his head the events of the past few days.

"Ready to go?" Came Sherlock's baritone's query as he approached.

Distracted and still staring at the table John simply said, "Hm?"

"I said, are you ready to go?" Sherlock sounded impatient.

John finally looked up having noted Sherlock's tone. "Ah, yeah…I'm ready. It's just…" he hesitated.

"Just what John? Still needing to work the hallucinogens out of your system? After that massive fry up you've just inhaled, do you need to stop off at the loo?" smirked Sherlock.

John cut his eyes upward fixing the man standing there with a patented stony stare. "Well aren't you clever? No, I was just thinking about the case."

"The case?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "We've just solved the case John, and in splendid form. Plus, thinking is my job John. Now come along. I'd like to make it back to Baker Street before nightfall." Sherlock reached down and gathered Watson's hand in his own leaning over as he did so to whisper in the doctor's ear, "I've got plans for us this evening to apologise properly for the lab experiment I put you through."

John's eyes softened, as did his voice, "Still can't believe you did that to me. I could have had a heart attack Sherlock. I'm not kidding. I was scared to death. I haven't been that terrified since Afghanistan, and that includes having a bomb strapped to my chest by Moriarty."

Sherlock grimaced, genuinely upset that he was to blame for the trauma to his good doctor. "John", Sherlock said with all seriousness, "I am truly sorry for the anguish I caused you", not certain himself if he meant for the lab, Moriarty, or both, "but I needed to find out and the need over- rode better judgement. Please say you'll forgive me?"

John stood immediately and turned on the spot to face the great detective. He grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him on the cheek, "Of course I do you silly git. Now come on or we'll miss our train. I'm looking forward to being 'properly apologised' to all night long."

As they retreated to the Land Rover whatever it was that John had been thinking about the case was forgotten, at least temporarily.

xxx

Fletcher, Grimpen Village's HOUND aficionado and gambling addict, watched the detective and his partner leave. As they drove off he pulled out his mobile and began to dial. Prefix +86 last digits 772, and he waited. After the second ring he heard the familiar tone to leave a message. His throat was dry as he began to speak.

"Mr. Holmes solved the case sir and is leaving with Doctor Watson. They did not locate the processing plant at Baskerville and to my knowledge know nothing of the advanced HOUND project. Doctor Frankland is dead. He stepped on a landmine, so you might need to find another scientist for the lab." Fletcher swallowed hard. "Please let me know how you wish to proceed. I will wait for your reply tomorrow night on the hill." As he rang off, Fletcher felt his stomach flip over. "Bloody hell", he said to no one, "I've got myself in a real pickle this time- a real pickle indeed."

xxx

The cab ride from Paddington Station seemed to be taking forever. It was all either man could do to keep their hands off one another. As they approached Baker Street the sun was just going down, glimmering through the window and giving up its last rays of the day to bounce off of the grey blue eyes of the one and only Consulting Detective. That was the breaking point for John Hamish Watson. The cab pulled to the curb and had barely come to a stop before John threw fifty quid at the driver, snatched Sherlock's hand and pulled him out of the car calling back over his shoulder, "put the bags inside the door, ta!"

They'd hardly made it inside when Watson turned to face Holmes at the base of the stairs. Pushing Sherlock rather roughly against the wall John rubbed up against him pressing his full weight in making the taller man groan. Sherlock barely spoke John's name before the doctor's mouth was on him muffling the sound, distorting the word by otherwise occupying Sherlock's tongue with his own. If John heard the door open to Mrs. Hudson's flat it didn't register. He was too involved with the task at hand.

As she opened the door, Mrs. Hudson was already mid- sentence …"possibly be going on? Oh, so sorry boys," she said, making a half turn and averting her eyes as she realised what was taking place in the hallway. John immediately stopped his ministrations and backed away from Sherlock. All the while Mrs. Hudson was still talking … "heard the banging on the wall and didn't know what was happening. Ever since that gas leak across the street, I've been on edge wondering if this old building was next."

John sighed, "Hello Mrs. Hudson. No, it's nothing like that, just Sherlock and I having a little tussle. Sorry to have disturbed you."

Sherlock, had finally gathered his senses a bit, but did nothing to improve John's embarrassment. "John was overcome by lust and couldn't help himself Mrs. Hudson."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and thought to himself, for a brilliant mind, he really can be such an idiot sometimes. Outwardly, however, all John said was, "Sherlock, not good."

The Cabby was now at the front door with their bags. John took a deep breath, exhaled and headed for the door to gather their luggage. So much for flinging fifty quid at the man, he thought. Could have done this myself and saved the money. Now I'm out the money, still have to play bellhop and I've got a massive erection that needs serious attention. John grabbed both his and Sherlock's bag from the driver and proceeded to climb the stairs to their flat passing both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock as he ascended without a word. Sherlock looked after him as he went and deflated ever so slightly. As John reached the top step, he half turned and bade goodnight to Mrs. Hudson, then to Sherlock he said, "Well? Are you coming? I still want my apology." With that, Sherlock smiled and took the stairs two at a time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about Baskerville continues to niggle at John's brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters are from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

John woke with a start. He had been dreaming. What about? Oh yes, the HOUND case. Something niggled the back of John's brain about the case – What was it? "See a man about a dog", Sherlock had said. At the time it had just gone over his head, but now? The words just played over and over in his mind and wouldn't let him sleep. In an effort to not disturb the long, lean figure beside him, John tried to settle back down.

Too late.

"John," murmured the sleepy detective.

"Yes Sherlock," said John.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock shifted closer.

"Just a bad dream, go back to sleep," said John releasing a breath.

"Mm," was the reply, but Sherlock reached his arm over John and pulled the doctor tighter to him nestling his face right in the crook of John's neck where he then proceeded to nibble on the good doctor's ear.

"Sherlock," John said more sternly, "Go. To. Sleep."

"I'm trying John, but you keep talking." Sherlock's voice was now barely audible.

"Good night Sherlock."

"Good night John." Sherlock continued to suck on John's ear.

John remained silent but smiled and gripped Sherlock's arm tighter. Who needed sleep anyway?

Once again what had seemed so important moments ago slipped away out of John's mind, until he drifted off to sleep where it played havoc once again.

xxx

The morning light filtered through the curtains of the bedroom at 221 B and directly into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes who was just now stirring. As he stretched his lithe form he swung one long arm out reflexively to feel for John. Nothing… and that side of the bed was cold. So, John had been up for a while. Had he ever fallen back asleep after Sherlock 'apologised' for the second time? Something was definitely troubling John and Sherlock was going to find out exactly what that something was.

Sherlock gathered the sheet up around him and made his way to the loo. Once finished, he shuffled down the hall to the kitchen where he found John already dressed, standing transfixed over the kettle, staring blankly ahead. The sleuth could see the worrisome look on John's face and the tiredness in his eyes. "Bad night?" He questioned, already knowing the answer.

"Good night," John replied with a sheepish grin, looking up not the least bit startled by the sudden appearance of Sherlock, then "bad dreams" and his smile faded.

John was determined to not lose his train of thought this time. "Sherlock, what did you mean yesterday when you said you needed to see a man about a dog?"

Sherlock deflected the question. "How long have you been up?"

"A while", John said, "Now answer the question."

Sherlock chewed his top lip a moment then said, "I wanted to ask the Inn keep a few questions about that Fletcher fellow. I think there may have been something he wasn't telling us."

John's full attention was now on the sheeted man in front of him. "What? Is it about the case? Sherlock, you said yourself the case was solved. What aren't you telling me, because I've had this feeling that there's still something off, that we've missed something. I just can't figure what it is. No, that's wrong too. I want to say it has something to do with that 'UMQRA' signal. Although I initially dismissed it, I'm beginning to think it might be fairly important."

"Quite so," Sherlock said as he rubbed his finger over his lips clearly deep in thought.

"Something else," John crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter, "Why would Doctor Frankland let himself get blown up like that unless he didn't want to be questioned? What if there was more going on at Baskerville than just the HOUND project that he didn't want anyone to find out about? What if he knew that if it was found out that he'd been caught his death would be so much worse than being blown to bits? Sherlock, the only person I know of that instills that much fear in someone….." John's voice trailed off.

"Moriarty," stated Sherlock as he looked up into his partners eyes. Then he shook his head. "That's a lot of 'what ifs' John. Either way though, I would like to have another look around at Baskerville. We never did have the opportunity to look at those lower levels did we?"

John should have known. The case had been niggling at Sherlock too.

A thought came to Sherlock. "John, do we still have those newspapers you were reading?"

"Which?" replied John perplexed.

"You know", said Sherlock, expecting John to know exactly which ones he was referring to, "The ones with the coup in Uganda and the cabinet reshuffle."

"I don't follow. Are you speaking of another case now?" John was thoroughly confused.

"No, John. Oh, you're so tedious some times. Please try to keep up." Sherlock did an about face lowered the sheet to his waist and tied it in a knot.

John hated it when Sherlock treated him like an idiot, but understood the detective was on the case and everything and everyone, including himself, was transport until it was solved.

Sherlock made his way to the living area and with his hands now free from gripping the sheet was able to search for what he wanted. "Where are they John? I need to find them." Sherlock was like a cyclone throwing things this way and that.

"All right. All right." John uncrossed his arms and pushed himself away from the kitchen counter. "Just hang on. I think they're over here by my chair." John reached down and grabbed the newspapers where he'd left them the day Henry Knight had shown up at their flat and handed them over to Sherlock.

Opening the Telegraph first, Sherlock read:

"According to British journalist Thomas Hardy, there has been an uprising by the impoverished Ugandan people. Fearing the British government was raping their nation of its national resources of copper and cobalt and stealing their food from farms, the Ugandan people have begun rounding up scores of British citizens for hostages. The British Embassy in Kampala has been set alight and the government has declared a state of emergency."

Sherlock closed The Telegraph and pulled open The Daily Mail to read:

"David Cameron is drawing up plans for a coalition re-launch and a wide ranging government re-shuffle as the Tories and Liberal Democrats brace for a pounding in local elections. Mr. Cameron had been widely expected to put off the shake-up until September, however recent developments in Uganda have forced the Prime Minister's hand."

"John, we need to see Mycroft. Now." Sherlock dropped both newspapers and left the room to get dressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John visit Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters are from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

Mycroft was in no mood for interruptions. The visit from his brother and John Watson was throwing his time table off considerably.

"What do you want Sherlock, I'm busy." Mycroft did not ask the men to sit when they entered the office.

"You know perfectly well why we're here Mycroft." Sherlock strode across the room and was now in his brother's personal space. "What's going on with the cabinet?"

The brothers stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity when John finally broke the silence. "We read in the paper there was going to be a re-shuffle."

At this, Mycroft shifted his gaze away from Sherlock to rest on John.

"Re-shuffle?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. John noted this looked nothing like when Sherlock did it. "Is that what they're calling it?" Mycroft turned to look out the window, his voice flat, "the Prime Minister wants me out," he said simply.

Sherlock stared at his brother's back but remained silent.

"Has it to do with that business in Uganda?" John offered.

Mycroft nodded, "Yes, the situation there has become increasingly hostile, and the Prime Minister feels I'm partly to blame for not controlling the situation properly. The locals have started attacking British citizens saying they were stealing resources. The Ugandan people are terrified they're being enslaved." The elder Holmes straightened himself up to his fullest height, tugging his waistcoat down as he did so, and turned from the window to face them. "Now, what do you want, as you can see I've got other things that need to be attended to."

"Admittance to Baskerville," stated Sherlock. "Both John and I believe there is more going on at the facility than we discovered initially." Sherlock took a step back from his brother. "It is possible the HOUND program has progressed to a more advanced stage." Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged a knowing look. "John and I will be heading back to Grimpen village this afternoon and we'd like to be able to have another look around Baskerville without being hindered."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to use my credentials dear brother." Mycroft once again turned to face the window. "It appears I no longer have 'Priority Ultra' clearance."

"Don't sulk Mycroft," the younger Holmes said churlishly. "What would Mother say?" Sherlock turned to leave, "Come along John, we'll need to stop back by Baker Street to pick up a few things before we catch the train."

Mycroft never turned to see them leave but in a hushed voice said, "Good luck brother."

xxx

In the cab on the way to Baker Street Johnn slid closer to Sherlock, and set his hand on the man's knee. While working a case, John knew that Sherlock preferred to not be distracted by "feelings" as he called them, but John needed to tell him something important. Sherlock turned his head from where he'd been looking out the window down to the hand resting on his knee, then up to John's face. "John, I don't think now is the best time for foreplay, we're on a case."

"No Sherlock, said John shaking his head. "That's not what this is about." John continued to rest his hand on the detective's knee. "I just wanted to get your undivided attention for a moment and figured this was the quickest way."

Sherlock shifted a bit turning his body more toward John. "Well, go on then."

Watson paused for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he began to speak. "Sherlock, if there is something going on at Baskerville and they've managed to advance the HOUND project, do you think it wise us going back there? I'm sure the British government can handle it. I just don't want you exposed to that gas again, either of us really." John shivered remembering the effects of the gas.

"John," Sherlock moved his hand to rest over the smaller one already on his knee. "The Prime Minister has just sacked the only person in the British government that could have done anything about it. As for exposure to the gas, I don't think we'll have to worry about that."

John tilted his head to the side a bit, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed; it really would be nice if people would just think. "John", he said a bit impatiently, "If they were working on the formula all this time on one of those lower levels, the same time Frankland was working on the gas in the upper level, then I have no doubt they've already been able to create a capsulised form of the drug."

"Sherlock," John said visibly unnerved, "We have to make sure it doesn't get out to the public. Can you imagine the terror and destruction it would cause?" Realization finally dawned on John. "Christ, that's what's happened in Uganda isn't it?"

"Knew you'd get there eventually," Sherlock smiled at John but his eyes revealed how serious the situation really was.

"And then there's Moriarty," John continued, "What's his role in all of this, if any?"

As the cab pulled up to 221B Sherlock released John's hand, "Oh I can assure you my dear Watson, he's in the mix somehow. Moriarty has his fingers in many pies and Baskerville is the least of them."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John arrive at Grimpen Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters are from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

The slight built man in the impeccably tailored Westwood suit deposited his mobile back in his pocket having collected the message from his man in Grimpen village. So, Frankland had gone and got himself blown up. No matter. At least he wouldn't have to worry with killing the man later. Sherlock Holmes though was another matter entirely, he was becoming quite the nuisance, he and his live-in Doctor Watson. Something would have to be done of course, but it would have to wait.

The Triad was becoming impatient to get their hands on the HOUND formula, especially after seeing how well it worked in Uganda. The time table on production would have to be moved up now. Moriarty hated China and dealing with the Triad. They always seemed to be unreliable, first General Chan and her Black Lotus gang, and now her successor General Cho. He wasn't sure they could be trusted to distribute the formula properly to further his ultimate goal, and they always got greedy. As he made his way through the streets of Liuzhou he thought to himself, _at least Holmes isn't sticking his bloody nose in anymore and I can finish up this business in peace and get the hell out of China_. _Soon_ , He thought, _Very Soon_. Once this matter was resolved he would turn all of his attention to destroying the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

xxx

"John", Sherlock's voice startled John from his dozing, "Tell me why you think the signal is important."

They were still driving on the country road leading into Grimpen village so John figured he couldn't have been asleep for more than five minutes. The lack of sleep from the previous night was catching up to him. "Well," he said groggily, "I didn't get a look at the entire message and it was bothering me, so after your tirade by the fire I went to have another look where I'd seen the signal. All I found though was a load of people in cars shagging. With all those people on that hill having a go…" at this John looked over to Sherlock, who didn't take his eyes off the road… "figured it was someone just signaling about the location. I was also a bit embarrassed shining the torch in at everyone like Peeping Tom so I left, still not having had a proper look at the message."

"That's also around when you texted me to go see Doctor Mortimer." At that John stopped his story and asked Sherlock, "Why did you send me a picture of Mortimer anyway? Did you think I'd prefer her over you? Really Sherlock, you are such a bad man sometimes. You should know better than that by now." There was still no response from the driver's seat. "Anyway", Watson continued, "Frankland blew my cover and told her we were flat mates…so it was a waste of time."

John reached over and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, a risk while Sherlock was driving, but worth it to see his body relax. "About what you said in the cemetery, when you said you only had one friend, that's not true you know?" Sherlock's body tensed and his expression became stone again. "Yes, I'm your friend, more than that even but you've also got Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly Hooper of course. So, you might not have _many_ friends, I'll grant you that, but the ones you do have would do absolutely anything for you. Don't you see?"

Still watching the road Sherlock said, "Is that all?"

John straightened in his seat and withdrew his hand. Sherlock obviously didn't want to talk about it so he returned to the previous topic. "There was also the rustling in the woods."

Sherlock finally turned his head to look at John, "Rustling?"

"Yeah, well I had already lost you and Henry as you'd gone ahead to the hollow." Sherlock merely nodded, turning back to face the road not wishing to re-live the moment of seeing the hound. "Well", John continued, "I heard something, a movement in the woods around me.  I just figured it was an animal of some sort, but now I'm not so sure. What if it was a person, someone there to collect a message from the signal?"

"That's another 'what if' John." Holmes said. "I suppose we should have another look around Dewar's Hollow as well then before we return to Baskerville. I'd also be very interested in hearing what Fletcher has to offer on the subject."

"Speaking of looking around Baskerville, just how do you plan on us doing that exactly?" John said. "Without Mycroft's credentials we'll never even get past the front gate, let alone be allowed to snoop around the lower levels of the facility."

"Maggie is going to help us", Sherlock said, and it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate so John settled back against the window to nap, and the rest of the journey to Grimpen village passed in silence.

xxx

Anthea was loathed to bother her boss, especially now with all that had happened, but she had no choice, "Mr. Holmes sir?"

Mycroft pressed the intercom, "Yes?"

"I have the Minister on the line." Anthea tried to keep her voice neutral.

"Thank you my dear. Put him through won't you?" said Mycroft.

Mycroft closed his eyes and picked up the receiver. This was not going to be pleasant.

xxx

As Sherlock and John entered _The Cross Keys Inn_ they saw innkeepers Gary and Billy behind the bar having a little domestic. John was able to overhear the tail end of their conversation.

"Just tell her she's cut off and we're not serving her anymore," said Gary, the larger of the two. Billy, shorter by at least half a metre, poked his finger into Gary's chest, "I told her that already you big clot, she's not listening. Just go have a talk with her will ya? You're bigger and she'll listen to you."

They both stopped arguing when John and Sherlock approached.

"Oh, hello again Doctor.... Watson wasn't it?" said Billy. "Oh and there's Mr. Holmes as well. Hello there and welcome back".

Sherlock said nothing but nodded at the acknowledgement. He had taken note of the woman seated in the corner, who was sifting through what looked to be a diary. She'd had entirely too much to drink and was well and thoroughly pissed, but he also noted that she'd been crying. There was a lab coat sat on top of her purse and it had a Baskerville I.D. with the name Mary Uslowski on it.

"Back so soon?" said Gary, his question directed at Watson.

"Thought we'd take a day or two off and have a nice little holiday." John said smiling.

 _John lied horribly_ , thought Sherlock, but at least he gave him credit for trying to hide their real purpose for returning.

"So, what'll be then, single or double?" Gary looked at John and then to Sherlock.

"One room with a king bed", Sherlock said without hesitation still observing the woman in the corner, and then he moved off in her direction.

John's eyes went a wide. Well, he certainly hadn't expected that. Maybe Sherlock was beginning to see the benefits of a shared bed during cases.

"Single it is", said Gary as he selected a key from its cubby and handed it to John with a sly grin.

"Ta," said John taking key from Gary.

John turned to see where Sherlock had gone and noticed he was talking to a woman in the corner of the pub. As he stepped up behind Sherlock the woman lashed out at them, "I SAID GO AWAY!"

"Miss Uslowski, I'd just like to ask you a few questions," started Sherlock.

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" She was sliding the diary off the table and reached for her bag.

John noticed she appeared to be trying to shove the lab coat further in her purse, an effort to hide it perhaps? John couldn't be sure.

Sherlock was off to the races, "I know you're Mary Uslowski born in the Czech Republic but raised in the United States. You were selected to be one of the original researchers for the HOUND project. Initially, you were quite keen to work on the project but soon realized the consequences of such a weapon. You wanted to leave the project but you stayed to be close to Doctor Robert Frankland, whom you'd fallen in love with. You also followed him to Baskerville when he relocated for the same reason. You've just come from his flat where you found a diary he kept, and the information in that diary has you both angry and distressed. Perhaps you found out that Doctor Frankland wasn't quite the man you thought he was?"

Sherlock's deductions never got old for John.

Gobsmacked, the lady just stared at Sherlock, her mouth agape. "How did you…" her voice trailed off. Finally, in a weak voice she said, "He lied to me….all these years. What sort of person does that?" She looked up to the detective tears now welling up in her eyes.

John stepped up to stand beside Sherlock. He knew it was his turn to talk. Sherlock was rubbish when it came to the emotional stuff. "Ms. Uslowski, I'm Doctor John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes."

Mary Uslowski became enraged, "YOU! It's all your fault! You're the two bastards that chased Bob into that mine field."

John kept his calm, he knew all too well from working surgery how drunkenness worked. First happy, not a care in the world, then someone ended up with a knitting needle stuck in their neck. He decided now was not the best time to try and reason with her. "Come on Sherlock, he said as he went to grab the detective's arm, "Let's go."

Sherlock evaded John's grasp and took a step forward toward the woman. John had apparently never told him the knitting needle story. Sherlock leaned over Mary and said, "Doctor Frankland murdered Henry Knight's father and was working on a drug that had severe adverse effects on the brain. A formula which you also contributed to I believe?"

"Now wait a minute," said Mary. "I never knew what Bob was planning with the formula. I thought it was all just research."

"But you knew the effects it had on the brain and you continued to work on it anyway." Sherlock was practically on top of her now.

 _Sherlock could be so menacing sometimes_ , thought John.

"That's what we do. We're scientists for Research and Development. I'm not part of the trials." Mary had lost her resolve.

"And I suppose that makes it okay to…" Sherlock was right in her face.

John decided it was time to step in. "Okay, all right. Sherlock, that's enough. Let's go."

Sherlock let John take his arm and guide him away from Mary, who was in tears again.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" John released his grasp on Sherlock's arm and took his hand. "You're all for R&D, why did you get so worked up?"

They had made their way back outside and were heading over to the Rover to collect their bags.

"Because John, I wanted to have a look at this," said Sherlock as he pulled Frankland's diary from his coat pocket.

John just shook his head and smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

It was too late in the day to make the journey to Baskerville so Sherlock decided they would wait until dark and go have a look at the signal instead. They still hadn't seen Fletcher anywhere around the village so Sherlock thought he must be out on one of his HOUND tourist walks. Hopefully, they would have the opportunity to talk with him before their trip to Baskerville. Sherlock was very curious about something the young man had said.

Finally settled in their room, John left to find dinner for them so Sherlock pulled out Frankland's diary and began reading. Due to the size of the bed in the room there was not a desk, only a small dresser on the far side and the bed. So when John entered the room with their dinner he saw Sherlock, lying in the middle of the bed, his head pointing to the foot of it and his feet, _oh god those glorious long feet_ , were propped on the headboard.

John wondered if this helped the blood flow better to Sherlock's brain aiding his thinking process. He'd often seen Sherlock in the same position in their bed at Baker Street. _Oh stupid,_ John suddenly realised, that is why Sherlock had asked for the king. Not so much to _share_ but more to **think.** Well, that was a bit disappointing but John still held out hope that he might be able to coerce Sherlock into a little cuddle later.

"Dinner", John announced, knowing that Sherlock had been too engrossed in the diary to even register his entry to the room.

"John," said Sherlock. "I think you were right about that signal. Have a look here." John set the bag of sandwiches he'd brought in on the dresser and moved to the bed.

Sherlock remained in his supine position so John had to lie next to him and imitate the pose to get a look at the diary. Being quite a bit shorter than Sherlock meant he wasn't resting his feet on the headboard, merely lying flat next to Sherlock. _Not bad,_ thought John, _almost a cuddle even_.

"See here," Sherlock broke John from his reverie. "This looks like the message Frankland received right before he died."

There were a serious of dots and dashes and then their translation. John read the entry:

HOLMES SNIFFING AROUND LAB. THROW HIM OFF SCENT. DON'T MAKE ME COME THERE IN PERSON. YOU WON'T LIKE THE RESULT. ONCE TASK COMPLETE CONTACT UMQRA FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

"Who's UMQRA?" John asked looking up at Sherlock.

"Another scientist perhaps?" said Sherlock absent mindedly running his free hand through John's hair.

John leaned into Sherlock's hand and said, "Well now that we've got a sample of the code, it definitely looks like it was Morse. Guess I just got it right at the UMQRA bit. Although, UMQRA doesn't sound like any name I've ever heard."

"I suppose it was Frankland then that you heard in the woods? He must've been collecting the message from the signal," Sherlock halted his petting.

"But who sent the message Sherlock?" John said tilting his head up. "Now that Frankland is dead will the signal stop?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He went back to reading the diary. John wondered if he should get up and leave Holmes to read and think but right at the moment he began to move Sherlock started running his fingers through John's hair again. Guess the king was to think **and** to share. The last thing John remembered before drifting off to sleep was Sherlock's leg intertwining with his own.

xxx

When John awoke it was dark outside. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. "Damn Sherlock, why do you always do this?" John hated when Sherlock went off on his own but at least this time he knew exactly where the detective had gone and left to find him.

xxx

Sherlock hated to leave John, but they weren't even sure there was going to be a signal. If there was one he could write it down and have John decipher it later after he'd had a proper rest. He noticed John had dropped off to sleep rather quickly so he knew he must have been exhausted. Sherlock knew a bit of Morse so he wouldn't make a dog's breakfast of the transcript. Once Holmes reached the hill he sat and waited. It didn't take too long before the light from the signal started flashing.

.-. .-. - -.-. . . -.. .- .. - …. -.-. .- ..- - .. - -. - .- - . .-. .- -. -.. .-. . - …. .- …- . .-. . - ..- .-. -. . -.. - .- -.- . .-. . - ..-. - .-. .- .- .-.. -.- - -. -.-. . -.-. - - .-. .-.. . - . -.-. - -. - .- -.-. - - .-.. ..- - -.- .-. .- ..-. - .-. ..-. ..- .-. - …. . .-. .. -. … - .-. ..- -.-. - .. - -. …

Sherlock took all the dots and dashes down and noted this message ended the same as the one in Frankland's diary. Holmes wanted John to have a look at this straight away, so without deciphering the rest of the message he closed his Moleskin notebook, stuck it in his pocket and headed back to _The Cross Keys Inn._ He hoped John wouldn't be too angry with him, with any luck the doctor would still be sleeping when Sherlock returned.

xxx

John arrived at the hill just in time to see the signal light begin flashing. He didn't see Sherlock anywhere so he dug in his pocket for his notebook and began transcribing the message. The more John wrote the wider his eyes became. "Jesus," he whispered. If there had been any doubt before as to the originator of the message, there certainly wasn't now. "Moriarty", John hissed. He had to find Sherlock and tell him the message. John never heard the man approach from behind, his thoughts were too focused on the message and what it meant. As he turned to leave the blow that hit him was fierce, sending a searing pain through his head right before he hit the ground and darkness over took him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them. 
> 
> A few notes to help you along with this chapter, just in case: 
> 
> MOD – Ministry of Defense (of course)
> 
> DMS – Defense Medical Services
> 
> SERE – Survival, Escape, Resistance & Evasion (Most soldiers have to go through this school, especially if they are deployed/stationed overseas.)
> 
>  
> 
> Alright then, hang on to your lederhosen kiddies. It's about to get a bit bumpy.

Sherlock opened the door to their room at _The Cross Keys Inn_. Empty. John must have awakened not long after he'd left then. He'd probably gone to have a look at the signal as well and they'd just missed each other on the hill. Sherlock was sure John would be angry with him now for leaving, but knew he would be able to make it up later with an 'apology'. Sherlock decided he'd wait for John to return in the pub, with any luck Fletcher would be there and he could have a word with him before John returned. If not, Sherlock still had Frankland's diary and the signal he'd just collected- he could finish transcribing it.

As luck would have it Sherlock arrived downstairs the moment Fletcher was returning with a group of tourists. Sherlock waited until all the tourists had gone and the young man had settled at a table and pulled open his racing form.

"So, who do you fancy in the fifth?" said Sherlock as he approached.

Startled, Fletcher's head snapped up from reading the paper. He quickly folded it into his lap and said, "Mr. Holmes, I didn't know you had returned."

Fletcher was trying not to sound nervous but Sherlock could tell the young man was hiding something more than his racing form.

"Mind if I sit?" Sherlock didn't wait for a response and took a seat across from Fletcher. "I never told you my name, how did you know it?"

"I uh", Fletcher started but Sherlock cut in.

"You said your mate worked for the MOD. What division," said Sherlock?

"What?" said Fletcher, a confused look on his face.

"Your mate," said Sherlock, clearly impatient now. "The one you told me had seen terrible things."

"Oh, he worked for the DMS." Fletcher let out a sigh and Sherlock noticed his shoulders relax a little.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment and just stared at Fletcher. _Yes_ , he deduced _, the young man was definitely hiding something very important_. He just didn't know what at this precise moment.

Fletcher shifted in his seat under the detective's glare. "Look, if that's all, I've got to go." He rose to leave.

No, that wasn't all. "Where's your mate now?" said Sherlock.

"I don't know, I'm not his mum am I? I don't talk to him every day, last I heard he was being deployed to somewhere in East Africa to deliver medicines and personnel. Can I go now? I'm knackered and still haven't had dinner."

"Certainly," said Sherlock who began to chew on his finger.

xxx

As Fletcher walked away he thought about the signal he'd just seen on the hill while conducting his tour. What the hell was he going to do? He'd managed to get through the interrogation with Holmes, but he still wasn't sure it was a convincing performance. This was all too much. He never should have taken the money to clear his gambling debts. He couldn't do it, plain and simple. He'd just have to call the man and tell him. He'd pay the money back, he would. He'd done all he was told. Spy on Holmes and Doctor Watson and report back, that's all he was told to do. No harm in that. But this, this was over the line. He pulled out his mobile and began to dial the number. The man would understand. Wouldn't he?

xxx

"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes? Sherlock!" Gary touched the detective on his shoulder.

Sherlock looked up at Gary, finally coming to his senses.

"You all right mate?" Gary said.

"Yes of course, why?" said Sherlock, annoyed at the interruption in his thought process.

"It's just…well…you've been sat here for nearly two hours now and not moved a muscle. I thought there might be something wrong." Gary started to head back to the pub. "I can see you're fine now. Sorry to have disturbed you."

Two hours, thought Sherlock. Surely John had returned by now. Why hadn't he telephoned or come to find him? Was he really that mad?

Pulling out his mobile he saw it was half eleven. No messages. He pulled out the diary and decided to transcribe the rest of the message. No use trying to apologise tonight. He'd let John cool down and speak to him tomorrow.

Sherlock had already decoded the last half of the message while he was on the hill. It was the same as the one in Frankland's diary:

ONCE COMPLETE CONTACT UMQRA

FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS

It didn't take Holmes long to decode the rest:

PROCEED WITH CAUTION

OWNER AND PET HAVE RETURNED

TAKE PET FOR WALK

"Pet? John. Moriarty!" Sherlock was on his feet in an instant hurrying to their room to tell John.

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted as he burst through the door. "It's Moriarty, he's…" Sherlock came to a halt beside the bed, the room was empty.

xxx

John came to as the freezing water hit his body with savage force. He was seated in a small metal chair with his hands tied behind his back. There was no light in the room save the flood of it coming down directly above the chair. From out of the darkness came another blast of freezing water, hitting John in the face. "Fuck!" John spat as he shook the water from head. He tried to jerk his hands free but his old war injury protested. His shoulder was on fire. He wondered how long he'd been in that position. He knew this was Moriarty's game, even if he wasn't here in person, he was pulling the strings.

Another blast of water hit John in the face, only this time he collected himself more quickly. "Ta, I was parched. Don't suppose you've got a sandwich on you, I'm feeling a bit peckish too?"

Another blast of water, aimed directly at John's shoulder. "CHRIST," John winced, but covered the pain he felt with a retort, "So that's a no on the sandwich then?"

Another blast came out of the darkness; aimed lower, "Fucking hell!" John screamed. He saw stars and felt as if he might vomit when the water hit his groin. It was at this moment John realised he was completely naked. A small panic ran through John but he knew he had to keep his wits if he were going to survive the night. He doubled over, reaching as far forward as he could with his hands tied, and put his head between his legs. His shoulder felt like it was tearing apart.

When the next blast of water came it hit John in the spine making him arch back reflexively, putting more stress on his shoulder. "Fuck!" he said through gritted teeth. No, that position wouldn't work either. He would just have to take the blasts and bide his time until he could figure out a means of escape.

They weren't interrogating him though and this caused alarm bells to ring in the soldier part of John's brain. John remembered from his SERE school training that if they weren't asking questions you really didn't matter. You were just there for the torture and would eventually be killed. That is, once your body and mind were so broken there would be no way you could ever be whole again.

The water blasts stopped.

John heard footsteps come up from behind but couldn't see who they belonged to. "What the fuck is going on here? I'm on holiday." John figured best to stay with the pretense. It didn't matter anyway.

There was a metal against metal sound as something was attached to the chair. John heard the footsteps retreat. "This is not going to look good on my holiday review." John was back to sarcasm.

There was a low hum that caused the light over John to dim slightly and he suddenly realised what had been attached to the chair.

_Clever bastards,_ thought John as he sat, shaking, soaking wet in the metal chair. Closing his eyes, John Watson took a breath and said, "Goodbye Sherlock", just as the electrical current hit his body.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More violent torture for John, more angst for Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

Sherlock held his mobile, staring at it; still no word from John. It had been three hours since the signal on the hill. It was clear to Sherlock that something had happened. He punched in a text to Lestrade.

_**Grimpen village. Now. John's been taken. SH** _

Even though it was midnight, it only took one minute for Lestrade to reply.

**_On my way. GL_ **

After texting Lestrade, Sherlock sent one to Mycroft as well.

_**Moriarty has John. SH** _

Sherlock knew there would be no answer from Mycroft.

It would take Lestrade over four hours to get to Grimpen village from London and Sherlock couldn't wait that long. Too much time had passed already. He had a good idea where to find John, if he was still alive that is. No. Sherlock wouldn't let himself be distracted. He was no good to John if he let his feelings seep into the equation. He could be at Baskerville within the hour and once he found John he would make those who took his partner pay dearly.

xxx

The meeting was boring, BORING! Jim Moriarty sat and listened to General Cho posture about the strength of the Triad. What they were going to do with the formula, blah, blah, blah. Cho's men were hanging on his every word as he spouted the same sorts of things all villains, in any movie EVER had said, and done better. Moriarty could care less what the Triad planned on doing with the formula. Only that it would be fun to watch the chaos that ensued.

However, General Cho seemed to be forgetting exactly _who_ was in charge here. Time for a little reminder thought Jim. He slowly rose from his seat then stood on his chair and took a step up onto the conference table. "Gentlemen, we seem to have a bit of a problem." Moriarty's evil grin spread wide across his face as he walked the length of the table to stand above the General.

Cho looked up. "Mr. Moriarty," he said, "I was in the middle of my speech."

"That is the trouble Cho," said Moriarty. "It is not about _you_. I have generously made the HOUND formula available to you and like your predecessor, General Chan, you have become drunk with power. You fail to recognize the true power behind this plan."

General Cho sank noticeably in his chair. "That is not true Mr. Moriarty. We all know you are the one that is in charge - Always."

Moriarty crouched down so that he was now eye level with the General. Narrowing his eyes he said, "It would be best for you to remember that in the future Cho. Or else I will find another General to take your place. Moriarty stood back up, jumped off the table with a flourish, and strode out the door humming Rossini's _La Gazza Ladra_ as he went. He pulled his mobile from his pocket once outside. It seemed his man at Baskerville had called and left a message. Sherlock's pet had been leashed. Moriarty had told Holmes to stop meddling, and now the detective would see the consequences of not listening by feeling the pain in his chest due to the loss of his precious Doctor Watson.

xxx

It was hard to breathe. There was excruciating pain in every part of John's body. An acrid smell assailed his nose, a mixture of urine, feces and burnt hair and John knew immediately that he was the source. _So, not dead then_ , he thought. Well, that was something at least. He was lying on his back, his arms were tied above his head and his legs were restrained at the ankle. It was possible he was strapped across his mid-section as well, but he couldn't be sure. The surface he was securely fastened to was inclined at the feet with his head tilting downward.

The doctor part of John began to take an inventory of his injuries. He could no longer feel his shoulder for a start. A slight twist of his arm told him the shoulder was now dislocated. Must have happened when the current hit his body, he guessed. His mouth was dry and tasted of blood. John moved his tongue around his teeth and discovered two of them were missing. He tried to open his eyes. His face was covered with some sort of cloth that was wet making it impossible to see and nearly impossible to breathe. Only one of his eyes was cooperating, the other was swollen shut. Watson couldn't be sure if it was from the water blasts or the electrocution. He hoped it was from the water. If it was from the electricity he might lose the eye.

He could tell he was still naked, the cold against his skin told him that. There was something wrong with his right leg. He couldn't tell exactly what, but his calf felt like it was burning up from the inside out. _Maybe the start of compartment syndrome_ , he thought. That wouldn't be good. Not good at all. So, John surmised, the voltage was low enough that it wouldn't kill him but just high enough to crisp him up like a piece of bacon. Brilliant.

John tried to move his leg and it shot a searing pain through his body that made the doctor yelp.

"Welcome back Doctor Watson. You've been unconscious for some time. I wasn't sure you were going to return to the party." It was a man's voice, noted John. Not Moriarty. John would never forget THAT voice. He did recognise it though, but from where?

John's motor skills weren't working properly so the only thing he managed to say was, "Cock!"

"Come now Doctor Watson, a man with your education, you should be able to think of something wittier than that." The man had stepped up closer to the table, close enough for John to smell the distinct odour of shoe polish. Not just any shoe polish, it was military issue. The kind you'd set on fire to make liquid. This made it easier to spread over the boot in order to get a better shine. It was a soldier's trick. John knew exactly who the man was.

"Buh muh", said John.

"Poor Doctor Watson, it seems the electric current has boggled your brain." The man moved around to the head of the table. "Brace yourself; it's time for round three." Water began pouring over John's head, causing him to gag through the cloth on his face. _God no_ , John thought for just the merest of moments and then the panic of drowning set in.

xxx

When Sherlock arrived at Baskerville it was still dark outside so he was able to make his way around to the back of the base unnoticed. He waited for the sentry to pass, and when the soldier came into view Sherlock leapt from the woods subduing the guard quite efficiently. Taking the soldier's ID, Sherlock then tied him up and secured him in the back of the Rover. Careful to avoid the security cameras, Sherlock entered Baskerville and headed straight for the lower levels.

The lift opened on level -2. Bins, just as Corporal Lyons had said during their last visit. No John. Sherlock took a step back into the lift and punched the next level down.

Level -3 was looked like a processing plant. Conveyor belts moved little white capsules along an assembly line to settle in small cardboard boxes at the end. No John, but Sherlock took a few pictures with his mobile and put a box of the pills in his coat pocket to test later, after he found John. Sherlock stepped back into the lift.

The next and final level, -4 was the warehouse, filled with shipping boxes labeled 'Cold Caps'. _Distribution area_ , thought Sherlock. John was still nowhere to be seen. Sherlock took more pictures with his mobile and got back in the lift. He knew John must be at the facility somewhere, but where?

Sherlock rode the lift to the top level where he started. He began checking every room. He checked the laboratory; he checked the offices of Major Barrymore, Dr. Stapleton and Dr. Frankland. No John. The last door left was labeled 'Security'. John had to be behind the door- he just had to. Sherlock turned the handle and opened the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's trauma continues, Sherlock's has just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.
> 
> Please be warned this chapter is a bit more graphic in nature.

Mycroft Holmes was in his study when he received the text from his younger brother. The call from the Minister earlier in the day had sent him home with no promise to return. If they could just sort out the mess in Uganda he'd be able to get his position back. It seemed Sherlock was on the right track but now John had been taken and this would take precedence over anything else Sherlock did.

The elder Holmes felt a twinge of pain for his brother. Mycroft quite liked John Watson, but if Moriarty or his men had anything to do with his disappearance, it was unlikely John was still alive. Sherlock would be devastated, of course. Mycroft would have to be extra diligent in his surveillance of his brother. Undoubtedly, Sherlock would fall back into his old habits and could even try to take his own life. Such was the worry when the two first met. Mycroft had tried to scare John off then, but the Doctor's tenacity in sticking by Sherlock made it clear, he wasn't going anywhere. Yes, John had been very good for his little brother but Mycroft knew that if Sherlock lost John he would never recover. So in the end, Moriarty would destroy them both.

xxx

John opened his one good eye to find he could see. He was off the table now and seated back in the small metal chair against the wall. Wonderful, more water torture, he thought. This set up was a bit different than last time though. He was strapped into a strait jacket with chains attached to it at various points around the neck, waist and arms. John followed the chains to their point of origin against the wall on either side and at the ceiling above. It looked to be some sort of pulley system that would be used for raising him up. There was a control on the wall by the door and John assumed it worked this contraption.

Some things were the same; John was still naked from the waist down. His feet were bound, but not together. There was a metal bar that kept his legs spread quite far apart which was attached at the ankle. John was now able to get a really good look at his injured leg. It definitely looked like compartment syndrome. Not acute for the moment, possibly chronic stage thought John. It needed tending to though, and soon. Now that he was no longer lying on his back he could feel a strange tingling sensation all up and down his spine. _Water or current_ , wondered John. Again, he couldn't be certain. At least he could feel his legs. The feeling was horrifically painful, but he could still feel them.

John's mind was clearer now, but even with the improved cognitive ability he still couldn't figure what sort of fresh hell this was. John tried moving around to see how fixed to the chair he was. The chains gave him a bit of leeway but not much. He heard the door open behind him and the sound of familiar footsteps enter the room.

xxx

Sherlock cautiously opened the door to Security. He didn't want to be discovered if at all possible and if John **were** in the room he'd need any element of surprise he had to free him. Corporal Lyons was sat at a bank of monitors keeping an eye on the base. He was flanked by another security man Sherlock had never seen before. They were the only two in the room; John wasn't here. Sherlock withdrew as silently as he'd entered, making sure to quietly close the door so he wouldn't be discovered. This was a waste of time. Sherlock had been at Baskerville for more than an hour now and the only thing he had to show for it were a few sodding pictures and a box of cold caps. Sherlock decided he needed to get back to Grimpen village and meet up with Lestrade. He'd also see if he could talk again with Fletcher and Mary Uslowski, maybe one of them could shed some light onto the whereabouts of John. The detective made his way out of Baskerville just as easily as he'd made his way in. When he reached the Rover he opened the back, rolled the soldier out onto the ground, cut his bonds,and left him there to wake up with a headache hours later.

xxx

As the footsteps got closer, John tried to brace himself for the torture that would most likely be his last. He found it was still very hard to breathe. He suspected that the electrocution had done more damage to his thoracic area than he first diagnosed. Possibly a fractured rib, if he was lucky. Could even be a punctured lung. There weren't any gurgling noises when he breathed though, which was a good sign. Either way, he didn't think his body could take much more abuse.

The man was right behind him now. He reached forward and grabbed a fist full of John's sandy coloured hair and jerked his head violently backward. "Time for the bonus round _Captain_ Watson," he whispered in John's ear with the emphasis on Captain as if it were a blaspheme.

John could now see Barrymore's face. His throat was dry from thirst and dried blood but John managed to croak out, "Why?"

"Why, Captain Watson?" Said Barrymore, a vice grip still on John's hair. "Why not," he said as he pushed John's head forward with such force that it released a large section of John's hair from his scalp. Barrymore came from behind John to stand in front of him.

The Major was clever, and he'd had good interrogation training. John noticed that he stood just out of reach, just far enough that it would take John too long to rush him. John would be dead long before he ever got anywhere near his tormentor.

"It was my pleasure to take the order from Moriarty," said Barrymore. "You people should all be wiped from the face of the earth as far as I'm concerned, and you even more so."

John gave Barrymore a quizzical look, making it clear he didn't understand what the crazy man was on about.

"Captain… CAPTAIN! They made you a fucking Captain! On top of that you're a doctor as well. So not only a position of authority, you have an excuse to tell people to take their clothes off. You fucking disgust me you fucking homosexual prick," said Barrymore seething.

Oh, well… okay. That made it clear enough to John. The Major was a small minded twat with too much power. John chuckled. Barrymore actually thought he was the one in charge here. John's voice was barely a whisper as he said, "Moriarty is using you, the way he uses everyone. Can't you see that? When you are done with me, which will be soon I have no doubt, he will kill you. On that you can be sure."

Barrymore took a step closer. "Done with you? Why Captain Watson, I've just gotten to the best part." Barrymore walked past John as if he were leaving, but stopped and hit the control for the pulley raising John up to hover over the chair.

Barrymore returned pushing something that looked like a stool with a giant pyramid sat on top. He moved the metal chair out of the way and said, "Have you ever heard of the Judas Cradle, Captain Watson?" He positioned the pyramid directly under John, placing it where the chair had just sat. "This is my version, what do you think?" Barrymore waived his hand over it like he was presenting a prize.

Barrymore walked back towards the door "Still don't know how it works then Captain Watson? Here, let me show you." He punched the switch on the wall.

John's eyes went wide as he started to lower. He furiously tried to free himself as he finally understood the purpose of the device.

"The more you struggle Captain, the more it will hurt. I don't really care either way but I just wanted you to know," said Barrymore with a sadistic grin.

John screamed in agony as the tip of the device pressed into his scrotum then slid back pushing into his anus, tearing his sphincter muscle as it entered.

"I've got a breakfast appointment," Barrymore said calmly. "But I'll see you in a bit, shall I?" He opened the door to leave. "I've got some weights I'd like to add on to increase the pressure."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes from bad to worse for poor John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them. (Especially Poor Watson, bless.)
> 
> Please be warned this chapter is quite a bit more graphic in nature.

It was still quite early to try and find Fletcher or Mary Uslowski, so after his return to Grimpen, Sherlock decided to send the pictures he'd taken at Baskerville to Mycroft. Perhaps his brother could find out what was going on there whilst he was busy looking for John.

It had now been over eight hours since the signal on the hill and Sherlock knew the longer John was missing the less likely it would be that he was found alive. He might have lost John for good this time. Sherlock brought a shaking hand to his face and covered his eyes. "Where are you John?" he whispered, his steely resolve beginning to crumble. Sherlock took a moment to compose himself, then uncovered his eyes to find Detective Inspector Lestrade striding towards him.

"Any word on John?" questioned Lestrade.

"None," said Sherlock. "I've had a look around Baskerville and he's not there."

"You could have been caught, then where would John have been?" Lestrade sounded irritated, noted Sherlock.

"Lestrade, if you'd rather not assist me here, I can handle this matter on my own." Sherlock was now just as irritated. "I called you because John considers you his friend and I thought you would want to help." Sherlock turned to leave. He had more important things to do than to stand there arguing with Lestrade.

"I do want to help Sherlock. I wouldn't have just spent over four hours getting here if I didn't, now would I?" Lestrade walked up to stand beside Sherlock. "What do you need?"

"I haven't been to the local authority yet. Could you do that to see if he's been…" Sherlock stopped and lowered his head … "found somewhere?"

"I'm on it. What will you be doing?" said Lestrade.

"I've got an appointment with Doctor Frankland," said Sherlock as he began to climb the stairs to his room.

Lestrade thought a moment as he watched the detective leave and then said, "But Frankland is dead." Lestrade shook his head as he walked back towards his car. He would never understand that man, not even in a million years.

xxx

The former government man was making a cup of tea. He'd given the housekeeper the day off. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts to try and figure out the bloody trouble going on in Uganda. The HOUND formula had obviously been administered to them somehow. Where did it come from? He knew the origin was most likely Baskerville, but how were they distributing it without anyone catching on?

Mycroft's phone chimed. He could tell it was a text from Sherlock from the familiar tone, but he wasn't sure he wanted to answer it. As Sherlock rarely ever initiated contact with him so there was a high probability he was texting to say that Doctor Watson was dead. If that were the case he'd need to try and console his brother as best he could so Sherlock wouldn't do anything rash. With that in mind, he pulled the mobile from his breast pocket.

There were several pictures of Baskerville. The pictures showed what looked to be a processing plant but more importantly Mycroft saw exactly how the formula was making it into the hands of the Ugandan people. He typed in a quick reply to Sherlock.

_**Pictures very helpful. Will follow up on my end.** _

_**Any word from John? MH** _

Mycroft waited and finally a few tense minutes later came the response.

**_None. SH_ **

The next call Mycroft made was to the treatment facility to have a room prepared for Sherlock. Mycroft wanted to be ready for the text he knew was most likely coming next.

xxx

John yelled out again. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was impossible to stay still due to his position on the device, especially considering the way his legs were bound. If one leg moved so did the other, shifting his weight causing the tip of the pyramid to climb further up his arse tearing its way along. Not to mention, there was now blood dripping everywhere which was causing him to slide around the tip making his legs move. It was a vicious, horrible, fucking circle that John just wanted over.

John realised something as he tried desperately to stay still. He'd never seen anyone other than Barrymore. No guards or other personnel watching him when Barrymore wasn't around, and Barrymore had been the only one torturing him. So if Barrymore had truly left him to go to an appointment, then John was all alone. John knew this would be the only opportunity to escape he would get. Once Barrymore returned, John was done for.

The biggest advantage John had, other than Barrymore being gone, was the fact that the Major hadn't realized that his prisoner's shoulder was dislocated. If he had, he would have used something other than a straitjacket to restrain the doctor.

John remembered something he'd read in _The Escapist's Tricks_ , a book of Sherlock's that John said was much more useless than solar system information. John shifted his injured arm very slowly and a sharp pain shot through his dislocated shoulder causing him to jerk. The device dug deeper into his orifice and John let out a bloodcurdling scream. The pain was too intense. He was going to pass out at this rate if he kept on, but he had to try. Otherwise, he was dead for certain.

John moved his good arm this time creating room to then move the arm over his head. This caused his right leg to move however, which in turn caused the left one to move, shifting the doctor's position on the device, resulting in the point tearing further into his arse. John cried out and then proceeded to vomit down the front of the jacket. John saw blood in the sick. _That'll be from swallowed blood_ , he thought distracted. _Concentrate._ The combination of pain, blood loss, dehydration and hunger was making him lightheaded and unable to focus. The last food or drink he had was back at the flat at 221B. John's thoughts drifted to Sherlock. He knew Sherlock was looking for him, there was no doubt. Sherlock would also have had no food or drink and wouldn't, not until he'd found John. John became very concerned for his partner, thinking what would become of Sherlock if he should perish. _No_ , John told himself. He would get out of this and find Sherlock and they would continue their adventures together. His thoughts now back on track, John went for the buckles to the jacket. _This will be the hard part_ , thought John, _the rest will be easy_. He was wrong.

xxx

Sherlock was laying in the middle of the king sized bed, feet propped on the headboard, with his head pointing toward the foot of it. He was back to reading Frankland's diary looking for any clue possible as to John's location. It was mostly formulas, and of how the project was proceeding. In a corner of one of the pages the number 86772 was written. Sherlock noticed it was on the same page as the Morse code. Coincidence? Sherlock didn't believe in coincidences. Things always fit together somehow. _But how?_ "Think, damn you" _,_ said Sherlock to himself as he changed position in the bed. He was now sitting on the side of the bed, his feet touching the floor. The number, it related to the message. Sherlock went back over the messages to Frankland. It had to be something coded in the message.

A loud scream broke Sherlock's concentration. It came from the courtyard downstairs. Sherlock padded across the room to look out the window and see what all of the commotion was about. Looking down he could see a crowd gathered around something on the ground. A sudden panic filled Sherlock as he saw an outstretched hand.

"JOHN!" Sherlock exclaimed as he ran frantically from the room and down the stairs.

Sherlock came to an abrupt halt as he approached the body lying on the ground. It was not, as he had feared, his beloved John but the HOUND aficionado Fletcher…and Fletcher was stone cold dead.

Sherlock walked forward, making his way through the crowd. He crouched down over the young man's body and saw he'd been shot in the head. _Sniper, from quite a distance_ , _military training, most likely someone from Baskerville_ , he deduced. _Most disappointing_ , thought Sherlock. He'd wanted to question Fletcher again.

"Did anyone see what happened?" Sherlock said in an authoritative voice as he stood.

A lady to Sherlock's left spoke up. "We were all gathering for the morning tour," she said, trying to keep her composure. "The young man came out of the pub, just there." She pointed a shaky finger in the direction of _The_ _Cross Keys Inn_ pub _._ "Well, he'd just cleared the doorway when he…his…" the woman started to sob. "He…he…he staggered a few steps and then fell right where you see him now." She was completely in tears.

"Has someone called 999?" Sherlock asked. Several of the bystanders nodded they had. "Very well then, no one is to touch the body. Is that understood?" Sherlock looked down once again. This time he noticed something sticking out of Fletcher's trouser pocket. Squatting down, ignoring his own orders, he retrieved a small notebook and flipped it open as he rose.

There, on the front page, was the message from the signal the previous night. Sherlock knew Fletcher had been hiding something. That he had been in league with Moriarty hadn't even occurred to the sleuth. It should have though as evidenced from the racing form. He was in debt, _obviously_ , thought Sherlock. _Stupid mistake._ He was letting the disappearance of John distract him too much. If he had questioned Fletcher more thoroughly this whole ordeal might already be over. As it was, one of the biggest leads to finding John, along with any information about the goings on at Baskerville, had just been taken out of the equation.

Sherlock noticed the same number that was in Frankland's diary was in the notebook too. Only the number was written this time not in the corner of the page but under the letters, UMQRA. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. Sherlock crouched again by Fletcher's body and dug through his pockets for his mobile. A quick scan of outgoing calls confirmed his deduction. Sherlock pulled out his own mobile and sent a text off to Mycroft.

**_Trace +86 772_ **

**_It will lead to Moriarty. SH_ **

xxx

Watson came to on the cold floor. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious but he was free from the chains and more importantly he was no longer perched atop the Judas Cradle. His legs were still spread wide though from the bar that was attached between his ankles. John tried to sit up to remove the bar but cried out in pain when he placed weight on his backside. Turning over on his side instead, John bent at the waist to release his legs.

There was a great deal of blood everywhere and as he tried to stand John's bare foot slipped in the pool of it. He was only able to keep his balance by grabbing on to the Judas Cradle which was also now drenched in blood. John felt as though he might vomit again. John was shaking violently, clearly in shock. Taking a breath in through his nose, then out through his mouth John quelled the feeling in his stomach. It was time to go before he passed out again.

The only piece of clothing John had was the straitjacket he was still wearing, but he decided something was better than nothing and slowly made his way to the door using the wall for support. He prayed the door wasn't locked and that he'd been right about being alone. Luckily, John was granted both as he opened the door and peered out. Looking around, John saw that he was near Baskerville, close to the minefield. It appeared he'd been held in a guard house not far from Dartmoor.

Gathering all the strength he had left, John started limping away from the building. He wasn't sure how far onto the moor he'd made it before he collapsed but hoped it had been far enough that Barrymore wouldn't find him. The sun was just beginning to rise and the moor looked so beautiful and peaceful. If this was where he was going to take his last breath, thought John, it wouldn't be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: for those that have never seen what a Judas Cradle looks like here's a description and pic from Wikipedia: wiki/Judas_cradle
> 
> The Escapist's Tricks is a book I created. Escapology is the practice of escaping from restraints or other traps. I've always been fascinated by people like Harry Houdini, Nicholas Owen and other escapologists and it was really fun to be able to include just a little of it here. The fact that John had told Sherlock at some point that the info in the book was useless and then used the information was also something that I thought would be cute to include as it connects this story to The Great Game.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not looking good for our dear John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major angst this chapter...hope you've got tissues at the ready.

Mycroft was pleased to discover the next text he received from his little brother was not the death notice he'd been expecting, but rather another development in the HOUND case. _Good_ , he thought. It seemed Sherlock was now focusing on what was important. Perhaps he had come to the same realisation regarding Doctor Watson. Then again, maybe John had been found. It wouldn't be unlike his brother to leave that detail out of the message.

The location of Moriarty would be easy enough to trace from the number Sherlock had given him, it would just be a matter of ringing his man in China. They would collect Moriarty and escort him back to London. Mycroft wanted to have a few words with the man about his globe- trotting exploits and if he timed it just so, he'd have his position back by this time tomorrow. A wry smile slid across Mycroft's face as he opened his mobile to ring the Prime Minister's private number.

xxx

Major Barrymore had always followed orders, beginning with his father's. His father was a military man and strict disciplinarian who didn't suffer fools gladly. There was no room in the Barrymore house for frivolity and everything, and everyone, had their place. Anything that didn't stay in its place was either discarded, like his mum, or punished severely. It didn't take long, or many beatings, for the young lad to fall in line and understand just how 'right' his father was. He soon became his father's son, in every sense of the words.

Barrymore was just fifteen when his father was called into the Falklands conflict. The young man read the newspapers every day and watched telly every night, dreading any word he might hear on his father, who was stationed on the _HMS Sheffield_. Early in May 1982 the young man received news that the _HMS Sheffield_ had foundered due to fire following a missile strike from an Argentine Attack Squadron. Twenty men had died; among them was Barrymore's father. A few years later, after Barrymore had joined the service, he discovered his father was not even supposed to be on the roster for morning duties, but had to fill in for another officer that called out sick. Further digging, after he'd risen to the rank of Major, and he found that the officer hadn't been ill at all but rather shagging a midshipman in the armory.

When Barrymore received the call from Moriarty just over a year ago, the man said he would help track down the officer and midshipman that were the cause of his father's untimely death. Moriarty just needed something in return; the use of Baskerville and information on the HOUND formula. Moriarty had said that he'd make sure no one would interfere. Barrymore would be in charge. He would have his place.

Barrymore was quite enraged by the bureaucratic interference from the MOD and hated the fact that Sherlock Holmes and Captain John Watson had usurped his authority during their search at Baskerville. These people did not know their place. What infuriated Barrymore even further was what he'd overheard the detective and Captain say they were going to do when they returned home. It sickened Barrymore to his core. So when he received the message from Moriarty to remove Captain Watson from the picture, he was only too happy to comply with the order.

Barrymore had received another call. Moriarty needed one more thing done and then Barrymore could have the information he'd been searching for. Kill Fletcher. He knew too much and would tell Sherlock everything. Easy enough for Barrymore, he'd had plenty of training and he didn't much care for that little weasel anyway. Watson had been dealt with, well mostly. There wasn't much more the man would be able to take and as soon as Barrymore finished taking care of the business with Fletcher, he would return and finish dealing with Watson, once and for all.

xxx

The authorities had already been on their way when the call came in about the murder at Grimpen village. Lestrade had insisted they come back with him to help in the search for John. Lestrade made inquiries about John at the station and made calls to the local hospital and morgue. The good news, if one could call it that, was that John had not been found lying injured or dead anywhere. The bad news, and getting worse with every tick of the clock, was that John was still missing.

As the Inspector and the other officers walked up, Lestrade noticed the body lying on the ground with a sheet over it. Looking around he saw a small crowd gathered but they were standing off at a respectful distance with the smaller inn keep watching to make sure none touched the body. However, the one person missing from the scene was Sherlock Holmes, and he was nowhere to be found.

xxx

Sherlock wanted to get a closer look at the signal and where it was coming from. Someone was sending it; maybe they could lead him to John. It wasn't that far to Dartmoor so Sherlock left Billy to watch over Fletcher's body with strict orders not to let anyone touch it.

_Sixteen hours, ten minutes and forty-five seconds,_ Sherlock thought as he looked at his watch. That's how long John had been gone. _No_ , he mustn't think of that. He had to focus on the case. That would be the only way to find John.

Sherlock decided the best vantage point would be from Birch Tor. The view from the rock looked out kilometres in every direction. Sherlock parked the Rover as close as he could, then let out on foot over the rocks watching the ground to make sure he didn't trip. As he looked up to get his bearings, Sherlock's heart nearly broke in two when he saw his dear John lying on the rocky surface ahead. Sherlock ran as fast as he dared, clambering over the rocky terrain until finally he was at his partner's side.

It was much worse up close. Sherlock quickly scanned John to try and determine his injuries. There was just so much blood and Sherlock couldn't tell where it was coming from, just that the majority of it seemed to be around his genital area. John was wearing a straitjacket and nothing else. Sherlock peeled off his large coat and quickly covered John with it.

"No, please John. Please don't be dead. Don't leave me, I need you." Sherlock said as he bent down. With a shaky hand he felt for John's pulse.

It was very faint, but John had a pulse. Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding and pulled out his mobile to phone Lestrade.

"I've found John, hurry. He's in a bad way. We're on the moor at Birch Tor." Sherlock was on the verge of tears. He couldn't hold back the emotion in his voice as he said, "Greg, please hurry. He might not last much longer." As he rang off he began to sob. He pulled John close to him bundling him up tighter in his coat.

"It's all right now, I'm here. I found you. You're going to be just fine." Sherlock said as he stroked John's hair and gently touched his face. He noticed John's eye was swollen shut and that his hair was singed.

"Oh my sweet man, what have they done to you?" Sherlock couldn't contain his tears clutching John even tighter in his arms.

John made a small groan at the pressure of Sherlock's hug.

"John?" Sherlock looked down and kissed John on the forehead. "John, can you hear me?" He said. Sherlock then lowered his head to John's ear and spoke just above a whisper. "You're safe now."

John's good eye fluttered open to see Sherlock staring down at him. "Sherl…" John tried, but was unable to get the rest out, his throat was just too dry.

That didn't matter to Sherlock. He sniffed back his tears and said, "Yes, my dear man, it's me. I've found you. You're going to be okay." Sherlock leaned down and kissed John again, this time on the cheek as he continued to stroke his hair and face.

Sherlock could hear the sirens approaching. "Do you hear that John? Lestrade is coming. We're going to get you out of here and to the hospital, just hang on. Please." Sherlock squeezed his partner's hand adding, "Don't you dare leave me here without you. I can't do it, I won't."

John looked up into Sherlock's crystal blue eyes. He'd never seen Sherlock so shaken. John wanted to stay, really he did. He wanted to live out the rest of his days adventuring with his love, but he could feel his body slipping away. He gripped Sherlock's hand and brought it to his chest.

"Luh," John said as he swallowed hard.

"Hush now, it's all right. Don't try to talk. We'll have plenty of time for that later." Sherlock saw the ambulance arrive and called out, "Hurry! We're over here!"

Sherlock looked back down to John. "There here. Help is here John. We'll get you all sorted, you'll see." said Sherlock. A bit of panic started to set in as part of him realised what was happening.

"Sher," John whispered.

Sherlock looked down to John's face. "Yes, John," he said. Knowing what was about to happen, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Luh…you," John said and with that his eye closed, his head fell to the side, and his grip on Sherlock's hand released.

Sherlock lowered his head to kiss John very gently on the temple and said, "And I am yours my dear fellow, always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know…you're all yelling at me now. It's okay. Just remember, there's another chapter coming. ^_^ and it's always darkest before the Jawn. (See what I did there? Aren't I clever?)
> 
> A couple of author's notes here:
> 
> HMS Sheffield was indeed a real ship that foundered after catching fire from a missile attack during the Falkland's war. However, no hanky panky was taking place in the armory, to my knowledge anyway.
> 
> Birch Tor is the rock you see Sherlock standing on in The Hounds of Baskerville when he's looking out over the minefield towards Baskerville.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come along now, there's more adventuring to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still here? Now you know, it wouldn't be a good John whumping story if he didn't die at least once right? Keep reading. I promise, it's not as bad as all that.
> 
> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them. (Especially Poor Watson, bless)

General Cho had not intended to make Moriarty angry. Cho knew exactly what happened to those that made the man angry. The General had just wanted to bolster his men. It had been so long since China had seen any real glory. The test in Uganda had been an overwhelming success. Now if he could just get more of the formula, Cho would take it to Beijing and show them what Imperialism was really about.

His outburst in the boardroom had jeopardised the plan. Moriarty was unstable at best, thought Cho, so what if he withdrew his help? Or worse still, the General wound up dead like so many others? Surely there were other venues for getting the formula. Cho made a decision that it would be best to sever ties with Moriarty, but how to remove himself without tipping the criminal off? His deliverance came when he received a call from the British Intelligence man. The British government obviously still didn't know that The Triad was behind the trouble in Uganda so this would work perfectly.

General Cho was playing both sides of the fence, a dangerous game he was all too familiar with. He would aid the government man in the capture of Moriarty, and then put this whole mess behind him until another opportunity with the formula arose. Little did the General know, he would never get that chance.

xxx

Sherlock was sat in the ambulance staring straight ahead, glassy eyed. His mind trying to compartmentalise all that was happening. John Watson, his partner, lover and best friend died in his arms. The memory of that would stay with him for the rest of his days.

"…Teeth missing? Mr. Holmes, sir? Did you hear me?" The paramedic had asked Sherlock a question.

"What?" said Sherlock, looking over to where the paramedic was sitting. Her name badge read 'Lucy', he noted. _Single mother of one child, hair dyed. Was previously in an abusive relationship, is now dating paramedic partner Ben._ Sherlock couldn't help it; his brain was in coping mode. The deductions came unbidden.

"I asked if Mister Watson had been missing any teeth prior to today," said Lucy.

"Doctor," corrected Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" said Lucy.

"His name, it's Doctor John Watson." Sherlock looked over to John's still form lying on the gurney.

"Yes, sir," said Lucy. She re-stated the question. "Was Doctor Watson missing any teeth before today?"

Sherlock's eyes turned to stone. "You mean before he was brutally tortured? No, he wasn't missing any teeth." Sherlock brought his hand up and began running his fingers across his lips. _At least John's still alive_ , Sherlock told himself. They were able to start his heart and he's a fighter. _John will make it. He has to._

"Will he be all right?" Sherlock asked Lucy.

"Well, Mr Holmes," said Lucy. Now that we have Doctor Watson stabalised, my partner Ben and I are assessing his injuries."

Sherlock sat quietly as the ambulance made its way to the hospital, listening to Lucy and Ben run through the litany of John's injuries.

"So then, continuing on. Missing teeth, one bicuspid, one molar, same side, lower right. Right eye damage, possible cornea separation. No pupil response." said Ben.

"Placing neck brace on victim," said Lucy.

Sherlock closed his eyes. _Victim_ , he thought. Yes, John was now a 'victim'.

"Left shoulder dislocated, note previous wound with scarring," Ben continued.

"He was shot in Afghanistan." Sherlock said flatly.

Lucy noted it on the paperwork.

Ben began again. "Possible fracture of ribs seven, eight and nine on left side; could be responsible for respiratory failure and subsequent cardiac arrest. Breath sounds currently good, but note to check for pneumothorax."

"Lucy, help me roll him," said Ben reaching for John's legs.

Sherlock winced at the jagged red lines all along John's back.

"Looks like branching from an electrical shock. Ranging from upper to lower back." Ben stopped talking.

Both paramedics gasped as they noticed John's backside.

"Mother of God," whispered Lucy looking up at Ben.

Lucy was blocking Sherlock's view so he stood in the moving ambulance, placing a hand on the roof to steady himself. Looking over Lucy's shoulder, Sherlock could now see what had caused her outburst.

The detective had never seen anything so heinous in his life. Overcome, he sat back down, cupped his face in his hands and began to sob. _Not John_ , he thought. _Not John_.

"Severe anal tearing visible. Further, more invasive exam needed to determine extent of damage." Lucy pulled some dressings down from a shelf and handed it to Ben to quell the bleeding.

"Unknown amount of blood loss, possibly severe. Cross and type upon arrival for blood transfusion." Ben said as he and Lucy rolled John back over.

Ben felt down each of Watson's legs. "Right calf hot to the touch, note check for Compartment syndrome."

Lucy looked over to Sherlock who was just staring straight ahead, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Doctor Watson has been through a terrible ordeal. He's very lucky to be alive."

xxx

Sherlock hadn't gone over the specifics of John's injuries when Lestrade arrived at the hospital just minutes after they hurried John off to surgery, but the Inspector knew it was bad. He could tell from the look on Sherlock's face. That was over four hours ago.

They sat in silence outside the operating theatre waiting for word. Sherlock suddenly said, "It was someone from Baskerville."

"What? That took John, you mean?" said Lestrade turning his head to face the detective.

"That tortured and tried to murder John, I mean," corrected Sherlock. "The same person is also responsible for the murder of that lad Fletcher back at Grimpen village." Sherlock sat back in his chair but still did not look at the Inspector.

"I'm feeling a bit out of the loop here Sherlock. I thought the Baskerville case had been solved? Why did you and John return?" Lestrade was trying to catch up.

"John and I both felt there was something else going on, some questions that needed answering. It seems we were correct in our assumptions." Sherlock turned to face Lestrade, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Before Lestrade could answer the doors to surgery opened.

"Doctor John Watson," said the surgeon.

Sherlock and Lestrade rose from their chairs to greet her.

"Are you the family of Doctor John Watson?" she said.

Sherlock couldn't deduce what she was going to say. There was just too much clouding up his mind. "His sister is on her way," he replied.

"I'm sorry sir. I can only give information on the condition of Doctor Watson to his family," she said and she began to leave.

Sherlock could barely contain his anger. He grabbed the doctor by the arm and spun her around. "Listen to me carefully, Doctor." He leaned forward in his most menacing manner, "That man is my life. If you do not tell me this instant whether he's alive or not, I will go in there and find out myself. Do you understand me?"

Lestrade gently touched Sherlock on the arm. "Sherlock, she's just doing her job. She's required to inform only 'next of kin', it's the law." The Inspector regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

Sherlock was visibly shaken at Lestrade's words and backed away from the surgeon, thinking the worst.

Lestrade continued on and removed his badge from his coat pocket, "Doctor, I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard and this is Doctor Watson's partner Sherlock Holmes. Can you please tell us the condition of Doctor Watson?"

"He's stable," she said looking from the Inspector back to Sherlock.

Now addressing only Sherlock the doctor said, "We've repaired the tearing to his anal canal. Fortunately, it appeared to be a lot worse than it actually was, but there was a major loss of blood associated with the injury. The Doctor had what is called a Class III Haemorrhage. It appears he went into cardiac arrest that was brought on by his blood loss, alternating tortures and restricted breathing. We won't know until Doctor Watson awakens if he's suffered any hypoxic injury to the brain as a result. We've alleviated the compartment syndrome that was beginning in his leg. The branching on his back and the subsequent compartment syndrome in his leg indicates that he was electrocuted at some point during his torture. We were unable to tell if the damage to his eye was due to the electrocution or some other form of torture. His eye has been repaired though and should regain sight once it's healed. However, it should be noted that Doctor Watson may need to have the eye checked periodically as a preventative if the cause was electrocution. His shoulder has had to be fused for the time being so it won't slip out of the socket. With his previous injury we just want to make precautions that it heals properly. He'll need to have a bit of physical therapy once it's all healed but I believe he will regain the full range of motion in that arm."

"So he'll be all right?" said Sherlock, his tone much kinder.

"We'll have to monitor him over the next few days to make sure he doesn't have another arrest and that his brain functions are normal. I would also recommend that he see a psychiatrist, to help him deal with…" the surgeon broke off choosing her next words carefully, "…his trauma, but I'm optimistic that Doctor Watson will make a full recovery."

Sherlock looked away from the surgeon.

"Thank you Doctor," said Lestrade.

"Can I see him?" said Sherlock.

"We're not supposed to let anyone other than family in the recovery room," said the Doctor. Expecting another outburst from Sherlock she quickly added, "But I don't see a problem with letting you see him for just a few minutes. Come with me."

"I'll see what progress the authorities have made in Grimpen," said Lestrade.

"You might want to call Mycroft as well," said Sherlock as he was leaving. Let him know about John and find out if he's found Moriarty yet."

Once again Lestrade was left shaking his head. He really needed to be filled in on what was going on.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.
> 
> It's a short chapter, hope you like it. At least we've gotten poor John out of that torture, right? I thought he'd never make it out of that one. :)

Major Barrymore returned from his trip to Grimpen village to find that his prisoner had escaped. He wasn't clear exactly _how,_ but with all the blood Captain Watson had lost it was almost certain he was dead by now. Barrymore hoped that Watson had died out on the moor somewhere so that the animals could have at him. Barrymore called Moriarty the moment his business in Grimpen was finished—he didn't want to waste any more time. He would have the names of those men responsible for his father's death and he would exact his revenge upon them. There was just one problem, Moriarty wasn't answering. Barrymore left the first message more than seven hours ago and since then three more. Moriarty still had not rung back, and now Barrymore was beginning to think he never would.

xxx

Once Sherlock had been allowed to see John in recovery, the detective didn't leave his partner's side. Even with the protestations of the doctors and other hospital staff, Sherlock would simply say,"no" then return to his bedside vigil. John was finally moved to a semi-private room on the cardiac floor from intensive care, but only after Sherlock kept bothering the nurses about John's treatment. Several hours after that, John was moved again to a private room because the patient that had been sharing the room with John complained that Sherlock had been questioning him incessantly about his health and if what he had was contagious. So now, John and Sherlock were alone; as alone as you can be with doctors and nurses coming in and out of the room every ten to fifteen minutes.

John still had not awakened from surgery and this disturbed Sherlock greatly. Although John had made it through that horrific ordeal, whatever it was, there could still be issues with his health. What if he did have some sort of brain injury? Sherlock couldn't even imagine what it would be like to not have his John back as he was before.

Sherlock grasped John's hand and lowered his head so his lips brushed across the back of it. "O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. Our ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won," he said, reciting Whitman.

"Mr. Holmes?" interrupted a voice from behind Sherlock.

Sherlock lowered John's hand from his lips but didn't release it. "Yes," he answered, not turning around.

"I'm Harriet Watson, John's sister," she said, gazing at the detective's back.

Holmes turned his head and met her eyes. The fact that he'd never met Harry Watson before today seemed a bit strange. John talked about her all the time and even visited her occasionally, but it was always away from Baker Street and John had never asked Sherlock to go along. Holmes had never bothered to ask to go either, so it just never happened.

Sherlock released John's hand and stood, "Please," he said, gesturing to the chair he'd just vacated.

Harry walked over looking up at the detective, smiling. "Thank you," she said, and then looked down at her brother. There were machines and tubes and intravenous drips running all over John's body. The ventilator was pushing air in and out of his lungs. It was all just so overwhelming to Harry and she started to cry. "Oh, John," she said. "What did you get yourself into this time?"

xxx

General Cho had sent four of his best men to pick up Moriarty. _Surely, four would be enough,_ he thought. The General knew that Moriarty generally travelled with a man named Sebastian Moran. Moran had never been seen by Cho or any of his men, but had it on good authority that he existed. This would make it damn tricky getting to Moriarty. The General had instructed his men to follow, but not apprehend, the clever criminal until they were certain Moran was not watching. The plan was to grab up Moriarty and usher him by quickest route to the airport, where he would be put on a private flight back to London. What Cho didn't know was Moriarty had assigned a different task for Moran, so he was completely unguarded the entire day.

xxx

James Moriarty strolled down the street seemingly oblivious to the men that had been following him for most of the day. Moriarty had been fully aware of the plan to "grab him up" of course, but had given Seb the task of taking care of the treacherous Cho instead of playing bodyguard. Trouble was, he'd been ready to be snatched up hours ago, and he was getting really bored now. Were they so stupid that they couldn't tell he was completely alone? _Yes, they probably were. Most people are idiots_ , he thought.

When his spy in Cho's office had informed Moriarty that the General had received a call from a certain Mycroft Holmes, Moriarty began his preparations for the demise of the General as well as his own capture. He played his part very well too when Cho's men finally made their move and bundled him up into the boot of a rickety old car. God, he hated China. Thank Christ he was now going home. _Yes, all idiots,_ thought Moriarty as he made calls and arrangements from the boot all the way to the airport. He would quite enjoy his conversation with the elder Holmes upon his return. It would be very welcome after dealing with the asinine General and his bungling men. It also happened to be necessary for the next step in the fall of a certain consulting detective.

xxx

Sherlock was torn: he wanted to be with John when he woke up—to tell him how sorry he was for going off on his own—but the more time he spent at the hospital the more time there was for whoever did this to John to get away. Sherlock needed get back into Baskerville, he needed to contact Lestrade and find out if there had been any progress made back at Grimpen. Sherlock also wanted to call Mycroft and get an update on how the search was going for Moriarty. Holmes reluctantly decided to leave Harry to look after John and drove back to Grimpen to meet up with Lestrade before heading to Baskerville. It was getting dark and security would be tighter now that they were most likely aware of the breech the previous night.

On the way to meet Lestrade, Sherlock rang his brother.

"Hello, brother dear," said Mycroft, sounding rather pleased with himself.

"So I take it you've found Moriarty?" said Sherlock.

"Yes, the number you gave me was most helpful in that regard and we should have him in custody very soon. We were also able to determine how the formula was making its way in to Uganda and have tidied up that situation as well. Everything seems to be going back to normal now. There as well as here," beamed Mycroft, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice.

"How good for you," said the detective sarcastically. "Have you been able to find out who Moriarty's man in Baskerville is?"

"Not yet," Said Mycroft. "But we should know very soon and we…"

Sherlock cut his brother off mid-sentence, "Then I'm wasting my time talking to you." and he rang off.

 _Bloody useless_ , thought Sherlock. Mycroft was only concerned with capturing Moriarty. That's all his brother had cared about; getting his trophy to show the Prime Minister so he could get his position back. If Mycroft did manage to gather up Moriarty it would be because the criminal wanted him to, not through any intelligence gathering on Mycroft's part. As he did with most things, Sherlock would get to the bottom of who tortured John and killed Fletcher on his own.

xxx

DI Lestrade had nothing new for Sherlock when Holmes arrived at Grimpen village. They were still waiting on ballistics for the gun; once they had it they _might_ be able to get a search warrant for Baskerville.

"It's a sodding nightmare," said Lestrade. "Now that your brother is back at his post, he's sending in government men to investigate and they're clogging up our progress. By the time we're able to get in there to have a look, the gun as well as the shooter might be long gone."

"I'm going now," said Sherlock.

"Where?" said Lestrade, "Back to the hospital?"

"No", Sherlock turned to leave. "I'm going to Baskerville. I'm not waiting for ballistics or warrants, Lestrade. You might have to, but I refuse. I will not stand idly by and let the person who did this to John slip through my fingers. You can stop me of course, or try to, but I don't believe you will."

Sherlock was right. He was always bloody right. Lestrade sighed. "No I won't, but just be careful Sherlock. It wouldn't do to have both you and John in matching hospital gowns."

Sherlock took a step back toward the Inspector. Tilting his head slightly he said, "You could always come with. I won't tell if you don't".

Lestrade looked at Sherlock for a long moment, thinking about all the detective and John had done for him and his department. Sherlock was right, ballistics and warrants would take too long. Lestrade made up his mind, "Well, in that case…lead on."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Lestrade have an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lovely characters are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from BBC Sherlock) I've just had a fiddle with them.

Mycroft received word from the pilot that Moriarty was secured and they were now on their way to London. He still had not heard from General Cho but Mycroft knew it was only a matter of time. Cho was greedy and would want reparations for his assistance in capturing James Moriarty. Mycroft's phone chimed. Ah, thought Mycroft, speak of the devil.

Although the number was Cho's, the voice at the other end was not.

"Mister Holmes," said the distinctly British voice. "Is this Mr. Mycroft Holmes, the intelligence man with the famous detective brother?"

"Yes," said Mycroft carefully. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Might I ask with whom I am speaking? It's clear you're not General Cho."

"No," the mysterious voice replied. "I'm sorry, but General Cho will no longer be making phone calls or doing anything else for that matter ever again. You see, I placed an explosive device under the seat in his car. Very naughty of me to be sure, but Mr. Moriarty just couldn't have the General's deceit go unpunished. What sort of message would that send to his clients?" The voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Ah," said Mycroft, suddenly enlightened. "Mr. Moran, I presume?"

"Why that's a very good presumption, Mr. Holmes," stated Moran. "And they say your brother is the one that's got all the brains, BOSH! I say. You're a clever little monkey too, aren't you?"

"Simple deduction," stated Mycroft, not willing to take the bait. "What I'm trying to figure out is why you've decided, or should I say Moriarty has decided, to let me in on this little detail?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, why does Mr. Moriarty do _any_ of the things he does? Must dash, I've got a plane to catch, but I'm sure I'll be seeing you _very_ soon, and do tell Mr. Moriarty hello from me when you see him, won't you?" Moran was chuckling as he rang off.

Mycroft Holmes pulled his fingers across his lips, similar to the way Sherlock did when deep in thought. It was clear that Moriarty had let himself be captured but what Mycroft couldn't figure out was what sort of game the criminal was up to. It might just be a little more difficult than he first thought to get James Moriarty to talk.

xxx

It was just getting dark when Sherlock and Lestrade arrived at Baskerville. In almost a mirror of the previous night's excursion, the duo made their way to the back of the facility. Sherlock noted that he'd been correct in thinking they would double the guard. There were now two soldiers patrolling the area. Sherlock was grateful Lestrade had made the decision to come along. It would have been nearly impossible to subdue both of the guards at the same time without being seen.

Both Sherlock and Lestrade were stood, back against the outermost building.

"Sherlock," whispered Lestrade. "What are we going to do about the entry code?" He said, pointing to a small square keypad at the door.

"We should be able to use a guard's badge once we've subdued them. That's what I did last night," answered Sherlock.

Lestrade watched the guards patrolling the area for a few moments. "There's just one problem Sherlock," he whispered over his shoulder. "They don't seem to be wearing any badges."

Sherlock had been so distracted on how to subdue the guards without being seen that he failed to see they weren't wearing the crucial part of their entry. How would they gain entry now, thought Sherlock? He must've slipped into thought mode for a few minutes, finally being roused by Lestrade's insistent poking at his shoulder.

"Hey! Oi Sherlock, you in there?" Lestrade said, poking Sherlock.

Sherlock grabbed Lestrade's finger. "Yes, that'll do, thank you. I was just thinking of a way to by-pass the protocol on the door and I believe I have the answer. It was the original plan I had intended with John before he…" Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"He'll be all right, Sherlock," assured Lestrade. "John's a real fighter. He survived Afghanistan didn't he?"

"Yes, well," Sherlock straightened himself, "Anyway, Maggie should get us in just fine. My only worry is that it might alert a certain Major of our presence."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock not understanding.

Sherlock sighed, "When we were here on the HOUND case, we used Major Barrymore's password to hack the system. The password accesses everything on the base. I can override the entry code by using the password, and the password is…" Sherlock waited for Lestrade to finish his thought.

"Maggie," finished Lestrade, finally catching on.

"Correct," said Holmes. "Problem is we've got to get from here to over there." Sherlock pointed to the door with the coded box, "without those guards or the CCTV seeing us."

Both of the men stood and watched the guard's movements for several more minutes. There didn't seem to be any way other than taking the guards out and that would most certainly be caught on camera, alerting the rest of security.

Finally Lestrade said, "What if they did see us? Well, me in fact. I could cause a distraction away from the door. The men and the cameras would then focus on me whilst you slip in undetected."

Sherlock thought about Lestrade's plan, "Yes, that might just work," he agreed.

Lestrade got a gleam in his eye and with a devious smile he said, "Wish me luck," clapping Sherlock on the shoulder as he sneaked off towards the guards.

Sherlock waited for Lestrade's distraction, a classic drunkard routine Sherlock had used himself many times, then carefully made his way to the main entry door undetected by guard or camera.

Sherlock's nimble fingers flew across the keypad entering the override code and as he pressed enter the doors hissed open.

xxx

A small beep from the computer alerted Major Barrymore that someone had just used his password to enter the facility. Barrymore picked up the receiver and dialed the security extension.

"Corporal Lyons," said Barrymore.

"Yes, Major Barrymore?" said Lyons.

"I don't suppose you realise there is an intruder on the base?" Barrymore asked.

"Nuh, no sir," said Corporal Lyons. "I mean, there was a drunk at the gate a few minutes ago but he's gone now, sir."

"Can you possibly be that stupid?" Barrymore was livid. "It was a diversion, you sorry excuse for a soldier. Now sound the alarm and don't let them escape."

Sherlock knew the minute the alarm sounded that he would need to change tactics. _Time for Plan B,_ he concluded.

As Corporal Lyons and his security detail rounded the corner heading to the door, he saw Sherlock sat just under the interior security panel.

"I'm afraid your security is still under par Corporal Lyons." Sherlock said as he began to stand.

"Just stay right there, hands in the air, Mister Holmes." The Corporal's hand hovered over the SIG Sauer in the holster at his side.

"You'll get no resistance from me," said Sherlock, raising his hands.

The Security detail moved forward and secured Sherlock's hands behind his back with a cable tie.

Barrymore stormed around the corner and came to a halt much too close to Sherlock. "I should have known it was you." he said maliciously.

Sherlock looked Barrymore over and deduced immediately that he had been the one who murdered Fletcher and tortured John.

Barrymore saw the recognition in Sherlock's eyes and leaned forward to whisper in Sherlock's ear. "Had the animals torn him apart by the time you found him? Oh, I do wish I could have seen your face," he taunted.

In flash Holmes head-butted Barrymore sending him stumbling backwards into Corporal Lyons. Sherlock lunged after Barrymore but the Security detail held him firm on either side.

"You are going to pay for what you did to John," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, barely able to contain his anger.

Barrymore wiped the blood that was dripping from his newly broken nose. "I highly doubt that Mr. Holmes," he said. "Without Captain Watson to corroborate any of your accusations, you have nothing on me."

Sherlock calmed himself, and then said matter of fact, "Didn't I mention? John isn't dead. The doctors say he'll make a full recovery." Sherlock wasn't really certain this was the case, but Barrymore didn't know that.

Barrymore's mouth dropped open. "You're lying," he seethed. "After what I put that bender through, he couldn't have survived."

"Major?" Corporal Lyons cut in as he took a step forward. "What's going on here?"

Barrymore ignored Lyons, he was too focused on Sherlock.

Seeing Barrymore's weak spot, Sherlock began his verbal assault on the man. "That _'bender',_ as you call him, is a better soldier than you could ever hope to be, no matter how high you rise in ranks. Captain Watson is a combat veteran, a decorated war hero and as a doctor has saved dozens of lives. He is admired greatly by those he served under and those that served under him and he is one of the bravest men I've ever known." Sherlock was straining against the hold security had on him. "What about you?" Sherlock sneered. "You're nothing but a pencil pusher with no decorations, who's never even _seen_ combat, much less fought in a war. You tortured and tried to murder John for one reason and one reason only and it isn't because Moriarty told you to do so. You did it because you couldn't stand the fact that this man, this doctor, this Captain, who is so much better than you, is in a same sex relationship. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being."

Barrymore was shaking, his eyes shooting steely daggers at Sherlock.

Sherlock could see it wouldn't take much more to push the Major over the edge. "It is apparent that you've finally come to the realisation that whatever Moriarty promised you will not come to fruition. Such is the way when you deal with a mad man. So now you will have nothing. You will be stripped of your rank and you will go to prison, where with any luck you'll be buggered daily."

That had been the last straw. "You son of a bitch", screamed Barrymore as he swiftly un-holstered his pistol and fired it at Sherlock.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get a little tense, hold on...we're not out of danger just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters are from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

Lestrade waited after his ruse to make sure Sherlock made it into to the facility undetected by the guards. The inspector then made his way back around to the rear of the compound to wait. He'd just made it back to the hiding spot they previously occupied when he heard the crack of the first gunshot, followed immediately by two more.

The rear patrol quickly hurried to find out what was going on giving Lestrade a clear path to follow behind them. Reaching the entrance, Lestrade took position to the side and peered in so he wouldn't be detected. He reached behind to the small of his back to retrieve his Browning HP. The scene in front of him was one of chaos. There were three men lying on the ground not moving and one of them was Sherlock.

Lestrade slid the safety off on his pistol, pulled the badge from his coat pocket and stepped inside. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard," he shouted. "Someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on here, and I mean now!" Lestrade moved as close as he could to Sherlock to try and ascertain how badly the detective was injured.

One of the soldiers spoke up. "Corporal Lyons, sir. I'm head of security here at Baskerville. Weren't you the man who was at the front gate drunk just a few moments ago?"

"Yes, that was me. I'm here undercover with my colleague." Lestrade quickly covered; it wasn't a complete lie. Lestrade slowly squatted down to Sherlock, never lowering his pistol nor taking his eyes from the men in front of him. "We were investigating someone at this facility." Lestrade reached forward and pressed two fingers to Sherlock's neck checking for a pulse, relieved beyond measure to find one. _Thank God! He's not dead,_ thought Lestrade.

Sherlock's head was bleeding at the right temple. It looked as though a bullet had just grazed him. _Damn lucky, that._ Lestrade stood, pistol still pointed at the detail in front of him. "I say again, what happened here?"

"I'm guessing the Major – Major Barrymore—was the man you were investigating. That's him," said Lyons. "There on the floor by Mister Holmes. I had no choice; he pulled his sidearm and fired on Mr. Holmes and my security detail. He was able to get off two rounds before I could stop him." The Corporal looked like he might be sick, but he continued. "I've never had to shoot a man in the back before," he said. "But he gave me no other choice."

Lestrade lowered his pistol and returned it to its previous location at the small of his back. "I'm just going to check them," he said, moving forward slowly. "Someone needs to call an ambulance."

Lyons turned to the Private on his left, "Dispatch medical to the main corridor and call for an ambulance." He too holstered his weapon and moved forward.

The security man lying on the ground next to Holmes, Jenkins was the name on his uniform, was clearly dead: one shot to the head.

"Private Jenkins took the first shot," said Lyons. "Poor bastard stepped in front of Mr. Holmes to try to subdue the Major. The second shot from Major Barrymore hit Mr. Holmes, that's when I fired."

"Sherlock probably deduced where the Major was going to fire and managed to move out of the way, but only just. He's only grazed." Lestrade moved finally to Barrymore.

The Corporal's bullet had struck Barrymore right between his shoulder blades, piercing his heart and killing the Major instantly.

The medics rounded the corner entering the corridor.

"The Major and Private Jenkins are dead", said Lyons. "Please see to Mister Holmes."

By the time the ambulance arrived, Sherlock was coming to and although he protested vehemently, Lestrade insisted he ride with the EMT back to hospital where he could be checked out thoroughly.

 

xxx

 

After an hour in A&E, Sherlock emerged with a plaster on his temple looking a bit worse for wear. He didn't greet Lestrade as he approached but said, "I need to see John," as he kept on walking toward the lift.

Lestrade followed behind and waited until they were in the lift with the doors closed before addressing Sherlock. "Are you all right? I thought I said be careful?"

Sherlock was annoyed at the questions. "I didn't think Barrymore would be stupid enough to fire on one of his own men. Once I became aware that was the case, I took measures to avoid being injured, albeit just a fraction too late."

Lestrade smiled, "Well at least you're not wearing hospital kit, guess that's something."

The lift came to a halt at the cardiac floor. The doors opened to a flurry of activity along with monitor alarms going off. Overhead a voice could be heard, "Code blue, cardiac 342." "Code blue, cardiac 342."

Recognition hit Sherlock like a load of bricks and he bolted toward John's room.

Sherlock came to a halt just inside the door as he saw John being worked on.

"Clear!" someone shouted, and John's body jerked as the electric charge hit him.

"Come on John", said Lestrade, who was standing behind Sherlock. "Stay with us."

The monitor continued to make the same long sound. "Asystole," said a nurse.

"Push 20 CCs epi and increase current to 280," said the doctor, rubbing the paddles of the defibrillator together.

Sherlock stood, transfixed. A single tear fell from his eye. "Not now," he whispered to himself. "Please, don't leave me." Sherlock wrapped his arms around his body, hugging tightly.

"Clear," said the doctor and then pressed the paddles to John's chest. John's body jerked again only this time the jolt to his system worked.

"We've got sinus," the nurse said as the familiar beep, beep of the monitor came back.

Sherlock released a long breath. "Good man," he said aloud.

The flurry of activity went on for several more minutes while the doctor and nurses continued to work on John. Finally, they began to filter out of the room. As the doctor passed Sherlock she said, "You can have five minutes Mr. Holmes, but then I'll need you to go."

"Doctor," Sherlock's voice was just above a whisper. "What happened?" When I left a few hours ago, although he still hadn't awakened from surgery, he seemed to be doing well. I'd never have gone if I knew he was still in danger of…" Sherlock made a gesture towards the bed.

"Doctor Watson woke about an hour ago," said the doctor. "There was no one in the room when he came to and he panicked. He was disoriented, a condition caused by both the surgery and from being held captive. He kept calling out for you. We tried ringing you but it kept going to voicemail and when you could not be located this caused further distress for Doctor Watson."

"There was a woman, his sister," stated Sherlock. "I left her here to look after John in my absence."

The Doctor gave a half smile. "Yes, well we had to have her escorted from the building. She was becoming belligerent to the staff. I'm afraid she may have been a bit on the inebriated side. She kept trying to tell them how to do their job, messing about with the IVs and such."

"That's not what caused John's heart to fail is it?" said Sherlock, his fury growing towards Harry Watson by the moment.

"No, no. He just became overwhelmed when he woke. His body wasn't ready for the shock to his system, so to speak." The doctor put a reassuring hand on Sherlock's arm.

"Thank you doctor", said Sherlock and pulled himself from her touch.

"Remember what I said, five minutes – that's all." She looked at Lestrade, who had been standing silently behind Sherlock the entire time and said, "You. Out. Now. Come on, let's go."

Lestrade saluted the doctor and made a military about- face, "Yes, mum," he said sarcastically as he left the room.

Now alone with John, Sherlock removed his coat and gloves, then pulled a chair up to sit beside the bed. Gathering up John's hand with both of his, Sherlock began to kiss the back of it.

"My dear man, don't you ever scare me like that again."

As John slept, Sherlock recounted the tale of his and Lestrade's trip to Baskerville. Several attempts were made by hospital staff to remove Sherlock after the five minute mark, but to no avail.

Several more hours had passed since the code blue and Sherlock had managed to fall asleep in the chair with his head resting on John's bed. It was only when he felt a hand running thorough his hair that he stirred.

Lifting his head Sherlock saw John was awake and looking at him. "Hi," Sherlock said sleepily. "Been awake long?"

John just shook his head. Sherlock deduced two things from this. First, John had not been awake long and second, he probably needed something to drink. Even though he could have stayed forever with John stroking his hair, Sherlock stood up and reached for the water on the stand next to the bed.

"Barrymore is dead." It came out before Sherlock had realised he said it.

John tried to sit up and pulled the lead out from his heart monitor causing the machine to sound asystole.

The detective, fearing the worst dropped the water and turned swiftly to see John just trying to get comfortable.

John noticed the look of horror on Sherlock's face turn to relief as he croaked out, "I'm fine."

That didn't stop the barrage of staff that came rushing in though, and Sherlock was shuttled out of the way while they checked John over.

The next hour was spent with the doctor running cognitive tests to make sure John hadn't suffered any hypoxia. There were a few gaps in memory but overall it seemed John had been quite lucky. One of the biggest gaps however, was that John had no memory of returning to Grimpen Village or his subsequent torture by Major Barrymore.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of language and some fluffy sexy Piratey talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters ín this fiction are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

John continued to improve over the next two days but he still had no memory of his time in Grimpen Village or in Baskerville and this concerned him greatly. He knew his memory would probably return at some point, but it was possible that whatever he'd been through was so traumatic that the likelihood was that the memory was gone for good. It had been something horrific to be sure, John felt. His arse burned like he'd been fucked by the entire Royal Navy. The thought that someone had violated him in such a way made him sick to his stomach. The rape test had come back inconclusive; no traces of semen, but that just meant there wasn't any evidence of what had been used for penetration.

From the rest of his injuries, John had been able to assess that he'd been electrocuted in some fashion. His missing teeth, the resolved compartment syndrome, the branching on his back and legs and, of course his eye- _possibly,_ he thought– all clear signs that a large current had passed through his body. John considered himself very lucky though, he knew all of his physical injuries would heal, it would just be a matter of time.

xxx

On the morning of the second day, Sherlock went into great detail telling John how he'd been found on the moor, almost naked and half dead before actually dying. "John, that's not something I would like to experience ever again." Sherlock said.

"I'd rather not experience it again either, Sherlock," John joked.

Sherlock also told John of Harriet's visit and how she'd been escorted from the premises. This wasn't a surprise to John. He knew it was better she wasn't around anyway. Harry never could handle stressful situations.

The optometrist arrived just after lunch to have a look at John's eye to see how it was progressing. He removed the surgical dressing and switched it out for a patch. This, of course, led to a barrage of lewd pirate jokes between Sherlock and John. John started it. He was only trying to alleviate the tension when the doctor told him he might lose the sight in his eye eventually.

"What did Captain Hook die from?" said John

"I'm really in no mood," said Sherlock sulking. He didn't want to think of John losing sight in his eye, and he didn't think it was funny to joke about the situation.

"Come on Sherlock, humour me. Please?" John begged giving Sherlock one of 'those' looks that he could never refuse.

"Fine," said Sherlock rolling his eyes. "I don't know John. What did Captain Hook die from?"

"Jock itch," John said with no trace of a smile.

Sherlock merely groaned at the poor joke but decided to play along and proffered a joke of his own. "What's a horny pirate's worst nightmare?" He didn't wait for John's reply, "A sunken chest with no booty."

John gave Sherlock a deadpan look. "And you thought _my_ joke was bad?" John took a different track and volleyed with innuendo. "I'd like to see your treasure box."

Caught up in the moment, Sherlock exclaimed, "Well, I'm here to claim yer booty!"

Realising what he'd just blurted out, and how inappropriate the statement was given John's condition, Sherlock hurried to apologise. "Oh, John, that was really not good. I…I wasn't thinking," stammered Sherlock. "I do apologise."

"Sherlock, stop," said John patting the detective's hand. "It's fine. It's hilarious in fact and when we get home we can play pirate all you like. I may even make you walk my plank," he said, winking his good eye.

"John, are you winking or blinking? I can't tell with only one eye." Sherlock said with all seriousness, sending John immediately into a giggle fit.

The giggling however was not a good thing for the sutures in John's arse and he jerked forward in pain. "Ungh," he winced.

Sherlock stood up quickly, concerned. "What can I do?"

"Mm, nothing Sherlock," breathed John as he sat back gently. "Stop fussing."

The duo sat in companionable silence for a time. Finally, John spoke. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John," said Sherlock turning to face him.

"Was it Barrymore that did it?" John's voice was just above a whisper.

"Yes John. Have you remembered what happened?" questioned Sherlock.

"No, nothing like that," said John, "Just putting some of the pieces together."

"Ah," realised Sherlock. "What I said the other day, about Barrymore being dead."

"Do you know what happened Sherlock? What he did or why he did it?" John appeared like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

Sherlock simply said, "No." Then gripped John's hand with his own and gave it a small squeeze.

It wouldn't do John any good for Sherlock to elaborate on Major Barrymore's bigotry. The man was dead and wouldn't be able to harm his partner any longer.

xxx

Mycroft did not meet the plane carrying Moriarty and he did not visit the criminal mastermind when he'd been incarcerated. Mycroft simply gave orders and received reports. This continued for several days. In that time, no matter the torture, Moriarty had said nothing. Mycroft could not fathom why Moriarty had let himself be captured only to keep quiet during his interrogation.

Mycroft tried texting his brother several times over the past few days but received no answer in return. The elder Holmes had to rely on the hospital and DI Lestrade for reports on John's condition. Clearly, Sherlock was mad at him, possibly for failing to be more active in the search for John.

Mycroft granted that it might be a bit warranted as he'd counted the doctor a loss and was just waiting for the body to be found. He would have liked to have Sherlock's input on the possible reasons the criminal wasn't talking, but it looked like he would have to take matters into his own hands and speak to James Moriarty himself.

When Mycroft walked into the interrogation room Moriarty was sat, with his eyes closed, swaying as if listening to a marvelous piece of music in his head.

"What's your game Moriarty?" Mycroft thought the direct approach would work best.

The criminal merely sat and moved in time with the music in his head.

Mycroft deduced that no amount of questioning would get him the answers he needed; not without offering Moriarty something in return.

"What do you want?" Mycroft asked.

Moriarty's stopped swaying immediately and his eyes opened. "That, my dear Mr. Holmes, is the question I've been waiting to hear. Please do come have a seat and let's have a little chat shall we? I'd like to hear all about growing up with a brother as clever as Sherlock Holmes."

And so began the back and forth between Mycroft and Moriarty in their exchange of information. Mycroft would tell Moriarty a small bit of information about his brother and in return Moriarty would share information on his extensive network of criminals and what each was involved with.

How could Mycroft even begin to understand that what he was telling Moriarty would lead to the ruination of his little brother?

xxx

Sherlock had been folded up in the chair beside John's bed for most of the afternoon. After the discussion about Barrymore, Sherlock told John about Fletcher spying on them for Moriary and that he suspected Barrymore had murdered the young man under Moriarty's orders. At that news, Sherlock noticed a dramatic decline in the doctor's mood. Sherlock thought telling John he'd been right all along about the signal on the hill and that it had led to the eventual capture of Moriarty would somehow help lift John's spirits, but it didn't. Not wanting to leave John's side with him feeling so melancholy, Sherlock curled up into the chair, held John's hand and read Whitman to him until he fell asleep.

It was now dark and the distant sound of thunder could be heard as a steady rain beat on the window at Grimpen Hospital. John was sleeping so Sherlock decided to stretch his legs and see if he couldn't find a cup of coffee.

Sherlock was on his way back from the Canteen, coffee in hand, when he heard John. Shaken to his core by the sheer terror in John's scream, the coffee slipped from Sherlock's hand spilling all over the floor. Paying it no attention he sprinted to John's room.

xxx

John had drifted to sleep listening to Sherlock read Walt Whitman. Whitman was a favourite of John's especially with Sherlock reading aloud. Sherlock's voice was like a warm blanket that covered John, keeping him safe. Until he started to dream.

At first it was just parts of images, flashes of thought; Standing on a hill, a light blinking out code. Soon, it turned into something disturbingly different. There was a menacing laugh from somewhere above him and the feeling that he was drowning. His breathing became more erratic as the panic crept into his nightmare.

The heart monitor began to beep irregularly, alerting the nurse's station so they sent someone to check on John.

John continued to dream. He was hot, his leg burned as if it were on fire. His eye ached. Suddenly he felt a hand in his hair and his head being jerked back violently. He saw Barrymore, laughing maniacally, and in a fraction of a second the scene changed and John was being sat atop a giant pyramid. John cried out in his sleep. It was the most ungodly pain he'd ever felt in his life.

The cardiac monitor attached to John began to sound an alarm just as John let out a horrific scream.

xxx

Sherlock entered John's room to see a nurse standing at the head of the bed. At first he thought she might be harming John, but after closer examination Sherlock realised she was only checking the monitor and leads attached to John.

After watching John for another few minutes, satisfied he wasn't in any danger of having another heart attack, the nurse turned to leave. "He's only dreaming," she whispered to Sherlock as she left the room.

Relieved, Sherlock moved to the bed and observed John. He noticed John was barely moving and his body was covered in sweat. John's hands were fisted in the bed linens and his eye was moving rapidly under its lid. It didn't take a detective of Sherlock's skill to figure out just exactly what John was dreaming about.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dear Doctor Watson is not quite over the hump just yet, but soon I promise. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of language in this one and Harry Watson has decided to make a reappearance. Coincidence? I think not.
> 
>  
> 
> The lovely characters ín this fiction are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

Sherlock wasn't sure if it was a good idea to wake John or not, but he could no longer watch the man he loved be under such duress.

"John." Sherlock's voice was deep and hushed so he wouldn't startle John.

John was still deep in his dream state.

"John." Sherlock said, a little louder. This time he took hold of John on either side at the elbow, lightly shaking him.

John began to shift uneasily in the bed as if struggling with an unseen assailant. His face contorted in pain and he made a slight moan.

"Come on John, it's Sherlock. You're having a nightmare. You've got to wake up." Sherlock shook John a little more aggressively but was still mindful of his injuries.

John woke with a start, and not realising it wasn't Barrymore who was hovering over him, proceeded to punch Sherlock in the eye.

"John!" Sherlock staggered back a few steps before regaining his balance. "Damn it, man. It's me, Sherlock." He said as he took a step back towards the bed.

John had a terrified look on his face. He was frantically pulling at the leads in his arm and chest trying to free himself.

The heart monitor sounded as the connection was broken.

"John," said Sherlock. "Calm down, you're okay. You're in hospital. You're all right. It's me Sherlock. John, look at me."

John's eye was unfocused and wild. "Get away from me you fucking psycho or I'll kill you!" John was now trying to get out of the bed. His words were like a knife to Sherlock's heart even though he knew John didn't mean them.

"John, it's Sherlock. You're safe now. You need to stay calm or you'll reopen your wounds." Sherlock raised both of his hands in a supplicating gesture to show John he meant him no harm.

Sherlock was afraid to restrain John for fear he would further traumatise him or that John would struggle and re-injure himself.

Several hospital staff now filtered into the room to investigate the monitor alarm. Upon seeing John's state one of them left again to find the doctor.

"Doctor Watson," said another one of the nurses, approaching the bed. "You are at Grimpen Hospital. You've been here for three days. Your partner," she gestured to Sherlock, "found you out on the moor. Do you remember?"

John looked from the nurse to Sherlock and back to the nurse again, he was still breathing heavily but made no further move to get out of bed. Sherlock still saw fear and confusion in John's eye.

"Buh…Barrymore," said John, looking at Sherlock. "He…it was him…he." John didn't finish the sentence and he could no longer look at Sherlock.

Sherlock knew from the look John had just given him that he remembered everything that happened, and the anguish in John's voice told him it had been much worse an ordeal than he ever could have imagined.

The doctor came in with a syringe in her hand and moved slowly towards John.

John made no move to stop her from injecting it into the IV that had been re-attached to his arm and soon settled his head back against his pillow.

"I don't know if that's such a wise decision, doctor," said Sherlock. "Sleeping is what started all of this."

The doctor smiled at Sherlock. "It's an anti-anxiety medication, not anything to make him sleep. It will just relax Doctor Watson so he's better able to cope with whatever he's currently dealing with." The doctor marked John's chart. "I'll stop by later to see how he's getting on. Please try to keep him calm so that he won't tear his sutures. If you notice he's becoming agitated again, please use the call button for assistance."

The doctor noticed the swelling beginning around Sherlock's left eye. "Looks like he got you pretty good, you're going to have quite a shiner there. I'll have someone drop off an ice pack for you."

The doctor double checked all of John's leads once more then said to John, "You're all hooked up again. Please try to stay calm Doctor Watson; we'd hate for you to reopen your wounds."

John didn't say anything. He just blinked a few times, and then looked away.

Sherlock was never good with pleasantries, "Uh, well. Yes. Thank you, doctor," was all he managed before the doctor was out the door and on to her next patient.

Sherlock approached the bed warily. "John?"

"Mm," said John. His eye was closed. "I'm here."

"Are you all right?" It was a stupid question, Sherlock knew. Of course John was not all right, and now he remembered everything.

"No, not really Sherlock, can I just be alone, please?" John still could not look at Sherlock.

"But, John," Sherlock started.

"No. Please, Sherlock, just go." John's voice was breaking. "I need you to go, please."

Sherlock took another tentative step towards the bed.

John's eye opened and he lifted his head. The mixture of pain, anguish and humiliation Sherlock saw there stopped him from moving any closer.

"Now, Sherlock, just go…please." John's eye was filling with tears as he pleaded.

"John, talk to me. Tell me what happened. We'll get through it together, whatever it is." Sherlock just wanted to hold John and make it all go away.

John laid his head back on the pillow and turned to face the wall. "I can't. Just go," he whispered.

It was the finality in John's voice that made Sherlock step away from the bed.

"I'll go see what progress Mycroft has had with Moriarty," said Sherlock making his way to the door. "But I'm not leaving John. I'll just be out in the hall if you need me. It won't take long and then I'll be back. All right?"

John didn't answer Sherlock. In fact, he really couldn't say when the detective actually left the room. He was too busy trying to process the events from the last five days.

Sherlock took a seat just outside of John's room. There were no chairs so he slid his back down the wall and brought his knees up to his chest with his feet almost under him. Retrieving the mobile from his pocket he saw that he'd missed several texts from Mycroft. Sherlock let out a deep sigh before texting a reply.

He's obviously up to something SH

Sherlock pocketed the mobile and then tilted his head forward to rest on his knees.

xxx

"He's my brother and I've every right to see him!" Harriet Watson's voice carried down the hall of the Cardiac unit.

Sherlock lifted his head too quickly at the disturbance and his neck protested, sending a shooting pain down his spine. He must've been more fatigued than he thought. Looking at his watch, he noticed more than two hours had passed since the episode with John.

Sherlock did not want to have an argument with John's sister near his room so he slowly rose from the wall and made his way down to the nurse's station.

"Sherlock! Would you please tell these people to let me see John?" Harry said. "They've no right to keep me from seeing my brother."

"Harriet," said Sherlock, his voice calm and hushed so John wouldn't hear. "They have _every_ right. I left the hospital three days ago thinking John was in good hands; your hands. Upon my return I discover that you had been escorted from the premises for being drunk and disorderly."

Sherlock took a step closer and his voice took on a more menacing tone; the same one he'd used on Mary Uslowski in Grimpen Village. "You lost your right to visit John. Do you know your brother went into cardiac arrest and almost died that night? No, because you were selfish and needed a drink. I suggest you think about that. I dare say it will do any good or stop you from drinking, but I will no longer stand by and watch you cause John undue mental stress. He has enough to deal with right now, he doesn't need you cocking up the works with your self- loathing, drunken mess of a life."

Harry looked taken aback, but only momentarily. "My mess of a life? Who the hell are you to judge me? Why the fuck do you think he's lying in there in the first place? It's not due to my life, you arrogant fucking twat! If he hadn't been tagging along on one of your cases, he'd have never gotten hurt! No, it's down to you, Sherlock fucking Holmes! Your life is what caused this!"

Sherlock took a step back. It never occurred to him that this was his fault, but Harry was right. He had left John to investigate the signal. If he had just waited, like they planned, they would have gone together and none of this would have happened.

Hospital security arrived and Harriet was escorted once again from the building. Before she left, however, she took one last parting shot at Sherlock. "I wish my brother had never met you. You're the worst fucking thing that's ever happened to him!"

It all became clear to Sherlock now. That's why John had not wanted to see him or talk to him once his memory returned. How would John ever be able to forgive him for this?

Sherlock waited another hour after the incident with Harry. He didn't leave the area near John's room and he never stepped inside. Forty-three times; Sherlock had walked past John's room forty-three times to make sure he was okay and to make sure John wasn't having another nightmare.

John hadn't changed position in all that time. He was still facing the wall so the only clue Sherlock had to his condition was the rise and fall of John's chest.

A nurse walked up to Sherlock as he stood in the doorway observing. She twisted the white bag she was holding, releasing the gel compound within it making the pack cold. "Here, put this on your eye," she said, "Doctor's orders."

Sherlock looked down at the nurse and took the bag from her. He pressed it to his left eye causing him to wince in pain. He'd forgotten all about John punching him.

"Sorry about that."

Sherlock's head jerked up and he saw John was staring at him.

"I really had no idea it was you. I…I was …" John took a breath and looked down.

Sherlock stepped forward into John's room. "It's my own fault for trying to wake you while you were dreaming. It's just…you looked like you were in pain and I, well obviously you were in pain, I mean I couldn't let you, oh stupid…"

"Sherlock", said John. "You're rambling." John looked up and saw Sherlock's black eye close up. "Well, aren't we a pair?"

"I deserved it and more," said Sherlock. "I'll understand if…well… if you no longer wish to be with me."

"What in the…what are you on about?" John huffed, "I would think it's you that wants nothing more to do with me after what's happened."

"It's all my fault John. I shouldn't have gone to the hill without you." Sherlock ran his long fingers through his curly hair, a clear sign to John he was upset.

"No, you shouldn't have, but that's nothing to do with what happened to me." John understood now that Sherlock had taken what he'd said earlier the wrong way. "I needed you to leave earlier because I couldn't face you, not because I blamed you. I couldn't face you or tell you what happened to me. It was all just so…" John searched for the right word, "overwhelming. I needed time to process it for myself so I could somehow figure out a way to tell you, to explain to you, what happened."

"So then you're not mad at me for going to the hill alone?" said Sherlock.

"Oh, I'm quite upset at you for that, but you always go off on your own and I'm well aware of that fact. It's one of the reasons you have to 'apologise' to me so often." The corner of John's mouth turned up slightly.

"You're not going to leave Baker Street then? Or me," Sherlock added as he stepped forward to the bed.

"No, Sherlock", said John. "Although, you may want me to after you hear what I have to say."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has made up his mind, only Sherlock's not having it. End of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters ín this fiction are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

Sherlock sat quietly and listened to John recount what had happened to him at the hands of Major Barrymore. Each torture was worse than the one before it, culminating with the horrific device used to penetrate John. For his part, John seemed very composed. This unnerved Sherlock in ways he couldn't even describe.

"Then I woke up on the floor and was finally able to make my way out onto the moor where you found me. Figured if I was going to die it might as well be in a spot where we had been together." John looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. "I thought I was never going to see you again, and that would have been the worst torture of all." His voice was calm, almost emotionless.

Sherlock's long fingers lightly played over the knuckles on John's hand, rubbing them gently. "But I did find you John, and you're going to be all right. You just need time to heal and you'll be okay. They should be releasing you in a few days and we can go back to Baker Street where you'll be more comfortable."

"That's just the point Sherlock," said John. "I don't know if I will be okay. There's a good chance I'll never see out of my eye properly again which means my depth perception will be affected and I'll more than likely have lasting nerve damage in my fingers and toes. Then there's my heart. After all of the trauma it's suffered, I'll be more susceptible to another heart attack if I exert myself. My shoulder is fused, Sherlock. Do you know what all of that means?"

Sherlock noted that John was becoming more agitated. There was more emotion now. _Good-_ he thought. It's was important that John talk about it, get it resolved. Sherlock didn't seem to see where the conversation was heading.

With no response from Sherlock, John continued. "That means I will no longer be able to carry a gun, or run after you on a case. I won't be able to raise my arm above my head or reach backward. I'll need help dressing for Christ's sake!" John raised his voice another decibel.

"John," said Sherlock, but he was cut off before he could continue.

"That's not even the worst part." John removed his hand from Sherlock's grasp. "I can't," John's voice caught in his throat. "That is…I mean to say…we can't...," John stopped talking and took a deep breath to compose himself again. "I'm ruined, Sherlock. Plain and simple."

Sherlock now understood what John was going to say and what he meant to do.

"John," Sherlock tried again, but was cut off for the second time.

"I'll be finding other accommodations once I'm released from here Sherlock." John's voice was back to even- emotionless. "I hope you'll respect my wishes on this matter."

"John," Sherlock began for a third time. "If you would let me get a word in, I never realised how talkative you could be. Most likely due to my own verbosity, but nevertheless it's probably best that you shut up now. While I'm impressed that it seems you put a great deal of thought into the reasons why you can no longer be my partner, in every sense of the word, you failed to consider the most important thing."

Sherlock saw John was pulling one of his, 'I don't know what you mean' faces.

"Don't you see?" Sherlock stood and leaned over John, his piercing blue eyes looking into the deep blue of John's. "None of that matters to me. All that matters is that I found you in time. Haven't you realised yet? There is no me without you. Not anymore. From the start you were there, praising me, defending me, shielding me, and fighting for me. You saved me from the person that was the most dangerous to me – myself. You have loved me for who I am, not what I pretend to be to the rest of the world. You saw through my failings as a person and made me a better man; a good man. I would never have become that without you and could never go back now. Surely you must know this? So it's not a matter of you just leaving. Not unless you want me dead. For that is what will surely happen if you leave. The root of it is I can no longer exist without you."

John reached up and tenderly ran his thumb along Sherlock's cheek. "You are the most amazing man Sherlock Holmes," he said quietly and pulled Sherlock forward, gently kissing him on the lips. "How can I possibly argue with that?" John said as they parted.

"Yes," said Sherlock. I failed to see the logic in your argument from the start, but you needed to get it out of your system."

"I didn't take into account how utterly besotted you are with me, you mean?" said John, his tone now seeming much lighter – playful.

"Quite so, my dear Watson, quite so," said Sherlock leaning down for another kiss.

Lestrade appeared in the doorway.

"Do come in won't you?" said Sherlock breaking contact with John.

"Sorry to interrupt you two but I've just been to Baker Street to fill in Mrs. Hudson per your request Sherlock. She wouldn't let me leave the flat without helping put a few things together for 'her boys'.

"That's very thoughtful of her, and of you, Greg." John replied with a gentle smile.

"Not to mention time consuming," added Sherlock. "Couldn't you have had an officer handle that? I'm sure you have more pressing matters at the department than to play delivery man."

"I promised Mrs. Hudson," said Lestrade.

It was a lie Sherlock knew, but he didn't let on. Lestrade had wanted to check on John and this seemed the best cover.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson can be quite convincing," said Sherlock.

"I'm not quite sure what all she's managed to pack in the case, but I'm fairly certain she's loaded bricks in as well. It's unbelievably heavy." Lestrade set the suitcase down close to Sherlock, and then looked at John, "So how ya feelin' mate?"

John shifted in the bed, wincing as he did so. "Coming along I suppose. I could really do with a good cuppa though. The stuff they call tea here is bloody awful."

Lestrade chuckled. "I actually think Mrs. Hudson has taken care of that for you." Reaching into the paper bag he was holding, Lestrade pulled out a tin of Earl Grey from Taylors of Harrogate and shook it at John.

"Bless that woman," said John smiling. "That's her private reserve too. Guess I'm worse off than I thought. She never lets anyone near her Taylor's."

Sherlock stood. "I'll go to the canteen and get a proper mug, shall I? Can't have you drinking Mrs. Hudson's special reserve out of a paper cup – that would be a crime," he said making to leave.

"Hang on", said Lestrade. "I'll come with. Mrs. Hudson packed in some sandwiches as well. I'll pick up some plates and we can do the whole thing up right."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely characters ín this fiction are from the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle(and those blokes Moffat & Gatiss from Sherlock). I've just had a fiddle with them.

After having the first decent meal they'd eaten in days, John settled in for a kip. Sherlock sat and watched the rise and fall of John's chest for over an hour before he decided he should probably clean up. He'd gone close to a week now with no shower, and John said no cuddling or kisses again until he did. Once sufficiently scrubbed and teeth brushed, Sherlock dug around in the suitcase from Mrs. Hudson for a change of clothes. Sherlock found his blue dressing gown, his favourite pair of pyjama bottoms and the OD Green shirt he'd stolen from John after the first night they'd spent together. Sherlock was comforted by the fact that no matter how many times it was washed, it still seemed to smell like John. The shirt was fraying at the neck now, and a little faded from being washed so many times. John had once offered to buy him a new one but Sherlock wouldn't hear of it. _Sentiment –_ thought Sherlock, he was finally beginning to understand it. When Sherlock opened the door he fully expected to see John slumbering away but was alarmed to find the bed completely empty.

"JOHN!" shouted Sherlock as he ran down the hall of the ward. He was unconcerned that his hair was still dripping from the shower and his feet were bare. One of the nurses quickly intercepted him.

"Mr. Holmes, I…" she began.

"Where is he? Where's Doctor Watson? Did you see him? Where's he gone?" Sherlock's questions were rapid fire – he was on the verge of a panic attack. He thought he'd settled this with John – made him see. Surely John wouldn't have been so heartless as to run out on him whilst he was in the shower?

"John!" he shouted again.

The nurse had to run to keep up with him. "Mister Holmes!" she ejaculated. She stopped directly in front of Sherlock, effectively blocking his path and stopping him dead in his tracks. "Doctor Watson is down having some tests done."

Sherlock visibly relaxed. "Why wasn't I informed he would be going? Is there something wrong?"

The nurse stepped out from in front of Sherlock, making a motion with her hand. "If you'll follow me back to the nurse's station, we'll find out. All right?"

Sherlock was completely composed once again. "Yes, of course." He said, "After you."

**xxx**

Almost two hours later John was wheeled back to his room. He hoped Sherlock would be there when he returned, but wasn't surprised to find the room empty. John figured Sherlock just got bored waiting and probably went to search for him. For that matter, Sherlock could even be heading back to the room at _The Cross Keys Inn_ for all John knew. Sherlock's unpredictability was one of the things John loved about the man – and one of the things he hated.

The MRI had just been a follow-up check to make certain there weren't any muscle issues or brain damage from the torture he'd suffered. From all the exertion of having the tests done John wasn't feeling that well, and by the time he was helped back into bed he was completely exhausted. Sherlock would be back soon so John decided he would just rest a bit until he returned.

**xxx**

Sherlock padded around the hospital aimlessly for hours looking for John. He decided it was time to head back to the room, John would most likely have returned by now. Sherlock hadn't paid much attention to where he had wandered, so when he turned the corner and found himself right outside the psychiatric ward he tried to make a hasty retreat – too hasty. Dressed as Sherlock was, the guard to the ward mistook him for a patient; a patient that had wandered off from the psych unit.

"Well hello there." The guard said in a most pleasant manner. "A bit lost are we?"

"Not at all," said Sherlock. "I'm just out for a walk. I'll be going now."

But as Sherlock turned to go he felt a needle stab deep into his neck.

"Oh I don't think so," said the guard. "I think you're going right back in there where you belong."

Sherlock had very little time to struggle before the world went dark. His last thought before oblivion was that he hoped John would wonder where he'd gone.

**xxx**

"Where's he gone then?" asked a worried John. It had been more than three hours since he'd returned to his room. He'd woken up to find the room still empty so he'd tried calling Sherlock, but Sherlock's mobile was in the Belstaff, and the Belstaff sat draped over the chair beside John's bed. John had also tried Lestrade and Mycroft but neither had picked up, so John left a message that if either saw Sherlock to please have him call so he won't worry.

"I'm not sure Doctor Watson", said the nurse. "He was quite upset when he couldn't find you earlier. I let him know you'd gone for some tests and he seemed to calm down. The last I saw him, he was headed back this way to your room."

Suddenly a thought came to John. "What was he wearing?"

"Wearing?" The nurse said, not understanding what John had meant by the question.

"When you last saw him, what was Mr. Holmes wearing?" Although John had a pretty good idea he knew _exactly_ what Sherlock had been wearing after having showered – that was if Mrs. Hudson had packed it. John was almost positive she would have. They both knew it to be one of Sherlock's favourite things to wear, especially if he wanted to be comfortable.

"I'm not certain," said the nurse. "A blue silk dressing gown, I think."

"With a faded green t-shirt and pyjama bottoms?" asked John.

"Yes, that's it," she said.

"Do you think, perhaps, you could check to make sure Mr. Holmes hasn't been mistaken for a patient? It would be just like him to wander somewhere he shouldn't and say something that would get him into trouble.

**xxx**

When Sherlock opened his eyes he found a familiar face hovering over him, although it was not the one he expected.

"Hello Mr. Holmes." Henry Knight moved away from Sherlock to give him room to sit up.

"Hello Henry," said Sherlock. The fog of the drug that brought him down was clearing.

"I was just leaving my last appointment with Doctor Mortimer when I saw them bring you in. I knew it had to be a mistake so I made sure they knew exactly who you were." Henry was smiling. "It was the least I could do. You saved my life last week. Without yours and Doctor Watson's help, I'd have surely wound up in here permanently."

As if on cue, John was wheeled into the room. "Sherlock! Thank God," he said relieved. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," said Sherlock. "Just a bit dazed from the drug they injected me with."

"What? Injected!" John became angry. "What the hell happened? His question was directed to the nurse. "Is it common practice to go around injecting everyone that happens to wander into the vicinity of the psych ward?"

"Sir," began the nurse.

"It's Doctor," the clarification had come from both Sherlock and John simultaneously.

At that, the pair each gave the other a sideways glance and then burst out laughing.

"Oh God, Sherlock stop, I can't laugh, it'll tear my stitches." John was wincing but continued to giggle.

"John, get me out of here," Sherlock said still chuckling, "before I actually do go mental on someone."

John turned to Henry. "Thank you so much Henry for making sure someone was aware Sherlock didn't belong here."

"My pleasure, Doctor Watson, if either of you ever need anything, please let me know. I owe you both so much."

"Thank you Henry", said John warmly. "We're just glad we were able to help you get things sorted after all these years. What will you do now?"

"Holiday," said Henry. "A long one – and I may not return to Grimpen Village. I think I've had enough of it and Baskerville for a lifetime, don't you?"

"Yes," said John, "probably so. Well, good luck to you then." John reached out and shook Henry's hand.

Henry turned to Sherlock, hand still extended. "Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock reached out and took the man's hand. "Henry. Good-bye."

Henry left, leaving just John and Sherlock and the nurse that had brought John into the room. Sherlock stood from where he'd been seated on the bed.

I'll take him back up," he said reaching for the grips on John's wheelchair.

"I'm afraid I'll have to escort you," the nurse said a bit sheepishly. "All cardiac patients must be monitored around the clock."

Sherlock let out a puff of frustrated air.

"It's all right Sherlock," said John in that soothing voice Sherlock loved so much. "She's just doing her job. She didn't say you couldn't push me back to the room, just that she had to come with." John tilted his head back and looked up at Sherlock.

Sherlock bent down and kissed John on the forehead, above the eye that was covered with the patch. "Thank you for coming to find me," was all he said as he began to push John down the corridor and away from the psychiatric ward. He heard John mumble something as he pushed.

"What's that you said, John?" Sherlock leaned forward to hear better.

John spoke louder, "I said, thank God for that blue dressing gown of yours and my old OD tee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N For anyone not familiar with the military term 'OD', it is short for Olive Drab. It's the colour of the t-shirts(among other things) that are used for many branches of the military for many countries, including British and American. I've always thought that the shirt you see Sherlock wearing as he looks out the window and waches John leave in The Great Game is actually Jonn's old Army t-shirt. (just my head canon firing off a few rounds)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid the angst isn't quite over for our duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are the brilliant creation of the one and only Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and the more updated 'Sherlock' comes from Mofatiss (that's Mark and Stephen mushed together I've been told) I've just had a fiddle with them.

Another week passed, uneventfully. John was moved from the cardiac floor several days prior to a semi-private room. He was still receiving IV fluids to keep him hydrated and carried around a portable monitor to gauge his heart's rhythm as he made laps around the ward, regaining his strength. Mycroft offered to have John set up in another private room, but John declined it saying he didn't want to take a private room from someone who might really need it. Now he wished he'd taken Sherlock's brother up on the offer. John, who had spent most of the time bored out of his mind watching telly, was becoming increasingly more paranoid about his new roommate. John never really seemed to be able to get a good look at the man, and he never, not once, had said anything to John. John tried to strike up a conversation the day he arrived but it's only a conversation if someone else speaks back, and it just didn't happen. John inquired about the man when a nurse came to check on him, but all she could offer was that maybe he was shy or just didn't feel like talking. Sherlock had taken to being gone much more frequently the past week as well, and John supposed he just felt a bit more vulnerable. _Yes, that must be it_ , thought John. He realised it was most likely just his restlessness and eagerness to get back home that was making him paranoid.

Sherlock entered the room. He'd been gone all day with no word, _again – not even a text,_ and John resented him for it. So it was no surprise he snapped at him.

"Where the hell have you been? Couldn't be arsed to send a text I suppose? You realise, I've got fuck all to do here all day long?" John stopped his tirade upon seeing the expression on Sherlock's face.

"What is it Sherlock? What's happened?" said John sitting up in bed, concerned.

"Nothing yet," said Sherlock. "Mycroft has been questioning Moriarty for almost a fortnight but has yet to retrieve any information that links him to Baskerville or Barrymore."

John knew what that meant. "Mycroft has to release him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I'm afraid so John," said Sherlock. "I apologise for not being around much the last few days, but I was trying to convince my brother to keep Moriarty in custody until I could find more evidence against him."

"Sherlock," John said alarmed. He suddenly felt as if he was going to come out of his skin. "Sherlock, you've got to get me out of here. If I don't get out of here, and I mean **_now_** , I'm going to go crazy." John threw his covers off and moved to get out of bed.

"John." Sherlock moved forward to the bed, placing his hand on John's arm to calm him. "What is it?"

"I'm a sitting duck in here." John's hand was shaking. "I don't know who anyone is, and any of them could be working for Moriarty."

Sherlock didn't understand why John was acting so irrationally. He was perfectly fine just the day before when he'd been in to check on him. What had happened other than his absence today?

"You're safe John," soothed Sherlock. "You've been here for some time now and no one has even remotely tried to harm you."

"Don't you see though, Sherlock? That's the beauty of the plan. Wait until no one's watching, then off poor old Doctor Watson. No one would be the wiser." John's good eye was looking around in all directions, wide with alarm.

"I would," stated Sherlock matter of fact, "and therein lies the rub my good man." Sherlock leaned down and kissed John tenderly. As he moved to pull away, John whispered in his ear.

"Sherlock, I don't trust my roommate." John inclined his head as he moved back from Sherlock, indicating the patient in the bed on the other side of the partition. "I think he watches me sleep," said John still whispering. "I had a nightmare last night that he was trying to kill me."

"I think it very unlikely your roommate wants to kill you, John. That is unless you've been making him watch crap telly. If that's the case, I can completely relate." Sherlock smirked, amused with himself.

"Oh just sod off you prat." John said as he glared at Sherlock.

It was the look John had just given him combined with the sentence uttered that made Sherlock take his partner seriously. He nodded to John and grasped his hand to show he understood, and then stepped to the foot of John's bed. Sherlock gathered the curtain partition that separated John from his roommate and pulled quickly, revealing an empty bed.

"Empty?" John said. I could have sworn someone was just there, Sherlock. I'm not imagining things. He was _just there_." John was exasperated.

The bed wasn't completely empty. Sherlock moved forward to gather the items that were placed on the pillow.

Sherlock held the syringe in one hand at his side so John wouldn't see it and then opened the note he'd found and read it aloud:

**_"Hard to sleep with one eye open when you've only got one good eye left. See you around Johnny Boy. ~M."_ **

"That's not possible," said John. "That can't be possible." John was becoming frantic.

"Of course not, John," said Sherlock flatly. "I just left Moriarty. I suspect this is the work of Sebastian Moran."

John let out a frustrated breath. "Who the fuck's that?"

"A master assassin and Moriarty's partner," said Sherlock, walking back around the bed.

"Partner? Like partner, partner?" John said.

"Quite so," said Sherlock. "However, I suspect not with the same depth of feeling for each other that you and I share."

"Brilliant," said John pinching the bridge of his nose. "As if one psychopath wasn't bad enough, now we've got two." John noticed the syringe in Sherlock's hand. "Jesus Sherlock, what's that?"

Sherlock held the substance up to the light. "If I had to guess, I'd say the HOUND formula. He probably put some in your food or IV of fluids, most likely while you slept. That would account for the change in your mood, the paranoia, along with the nightmare you said you experienced."

"Well," said John crossing his arms, "I was right to be paranoid, wasn't I?"

Sherlock didn't reply. He pulled the mobile from his pocket and sent a text to Mycroft.

**_Hold Moriarty. We have new evidence. SH_ **

It was too late, Moriarty was already miles away from custody by the time Mycroft received the text.

**XXX**

James Moriarty had been in custody for nearly two weeks, and in that time revealed almost nothing about his core operation or his connection to Baskerville and the HOUND formula. The master criminal, however, had gleaned much from his talks with Mycroft Holmes about a certain Consulting Detective. Moriarty now had enough information to put his plan into action. It had been so easy to get 'The Ice Man' to tell him all he needed to know about Sherlock.

"All right, let him go," came the voice from the intercom; Mycroft's voice.

James Moriarty's eyes flicker open as he's gathered up by two government men. Escorted from the cell Moriarty thinks _, I owe you Sherlock_. Yes, it was now time to turn all of his attention to the detective who kept meddling in his affairs. He had all the information he needed now.  Sherlock and his pet had interfered for the last time. It was now time for a fall.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end. This chapter is mostly the smexy bits so if you want to avoid those, I'd stop after Mycroft leaves the flat. Otherwise, there be Pirate play ahead, batten down the hatches!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are the brilliant creation of the one and only Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and the more updated 'Sherlock' comes from Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss) I've just had a fiddle with them.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N notes at the end

Sherlock and John left the hospital not long after the incident with Seb Moran. They were under extra surveillance from Mycroft, of course, as well as strict orders from the doctor. John's injuries continued to heal, but he still had a slight limp, his shoulder was in need of therapy and he needed to wear the eye patch for at least another week. The injury that would take the longest to heal and caused the greatest concern was the injury inflicted by the Judas device; it would be at least another month or two for that to be completely healed. The doctor told John that under no circumstances could he 'bottom' anytime soon. That hadn't been a problem. Although John had been affectionate, there had been no real advances made, on either's part, for sex. Sherlock was too worried about John's injuries, and John had just seemed disinterested. This didn't matter to Sherlock though. Sex wasn't the reason he'd entered into a relationship with John to begin with, and it wouldn't be a reason to quit having one.

A few weeks after John and Sherlock's return, Mycroft stopped by 221B. He'd wanted all the details of what had happened at Baskerville straight away, but Sherlock ignored his requests making it necessary for Mycroft to visit Baker Street and get the details in person.

"We could have done all of this over the phone, Mycroft", said Sherlock plucking the strings on his Stradivarius none too softly.

"And give you the chance to continue to ignore me?" Mycroft tilted his head to the side in that annoying way Sherlock hated. "I think not little brother."

"Don't call me that," Sherlock huffed.

"What? Little brother?" Mycroft seemed to be paying little attention to the conversation, instead opting to look around the flat.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "It's condescending and you know it. So if you want any details about the case you'll refrain."

"Very well, Sherlock." Mycroft brought his attention back to the conversation. "Shall we begin?" Mycroft sat down across from Sherlock in the chair that was typically occupied by John.

Before Sherlock could begin, there was a fumbling at the front door and moments later it swung open wide. John walked into the room, his arms full of shopping bags.

"No, I've got it", he said sarcastically. "Why break tradition, it's not like I died or anything." John set the bags on the table in the kitchen with a dramatic huff.

"John, I do wish you'd stop saying that," Sherlock said uneasily. "It's not the least bit funny and as you are well aware, it won't garner the results you desire." In the time since they'd returned to Baker Street John had uttered the same phrase, or a variant thereof, 28 times. Sherlock had taken note of each one and disliked each and every utterance.

This was the first time Sherlock had said anything back after John made one of his 'dying' quips, so John opened his mouth to retort with another snide remark, but glancing up he saw the look in Sherlock's eyes. It was as if his words had physically hurt him. "I'm sorry Sherlock," John said plainly. "I won't do it again." John nodded to Sherlock as if to say, "I promise."

Sherlock nodded in return and then turned his attention back to Mycroft, who had been watching the whole exchange with rapt attention.

"There were quite a few obvious clues regarding what they were really up to at the facility. John, you remember." Sherlock called over to the kitchen where John was putting the shopping away.

John turned and stared back blankly, "Clues?"

Sherlock placed his violin back in its case, "Oh really John. I would have thought after all this time your observation skills were at least marginally better."

John said nothing but gave Sherlock his 'Stop fucking with me Sherlock' look, and went back to putting away the shopping.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to his summation. "During our first foray into Baskerville, when John asked Corporal Lyons what it was they did at the facility, the Corporal said everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, but it was something else the Corporal said that struck me as odd. He said they worked on biological and chemical weapons and when one war ends another begins, which meant they had to have known about Doctor Frankland's work on the HOUND formula. When I saw the articles in the newspaper about Uganda and the Prime Minister I knew it couldn't all be coincidence. There was a sign in the lab at Baskerville that read, 'Keep Out If You Don't Want a Cold', a clear indication that they were mixing the formula to put into cold caps for distribution. It was Moriarty and Frankland that stole the formula and had it shipped to Uganda to start the uprising. The facility knew nothing of the affair; they were just producing the formula for future use, a contingency plan for the next war, so to speak."

"Incredible." John was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, all of his attention on Sherlock. "You're simply incredible," he said smiling. John was looking at Sherlock with pure adoration and love.

It still warmed Sherlock how much John praised him. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of it, and he decided to return the favour.

"Nonsense John, it was you that alerted me. Once we returned from Baskerville, I was content to move on to another case. If you hadn't thought something was still amiss we'd have never gone back and found that Moriarty was involved." Sherlock smiled a proud smile at John.

"Yes, well…" John looked down at the ground, a bit overcome by the praise from his partner. "It was that line you said regarding 'Seeing a man about a dog' that set me to thinking."

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a look that went unnoticed by John.

"So what will become of the facility? Are they going to keep it open?" John asked as he walked over to stand beside Sherlock, placing his hand on the back of the chair.

"That is a matter for the British government and none of your concern now." Mycroft said, straightening in the chair ever so slightly.

"You are the British government, Mycroft," said Sherlock. "If you can't say, then say so. Don't try to be all mysterious, it doesn't work."

"Fine," said Mycroft. "I can't say. Is that better?"

"No, because it means that the facility will remain open." Sherlock knew he had retained the upper hand in the conversation and that now was the perfect time to dismiss his brother. "John and I have a lot of things to do, Mycroft. Please be sure to see yourself out." Sherlock rose from the chair and motioned for his brother to leave.

"Very well, I suppose I have all the information I need." Mycroft rose from the chair. "Do let me know if you need anything."

"I doubt it," Sherlock said as he closed the door behind his brother.

XXX

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative silence. Sherlock was busy running some sort of experiment with fingernails, and John was reading the paper catching up on the news.

Sherlock strode from the kitchen to his chair and plopped down in it letting out a breath of frustrated air as he rested his head on the back, looking up to the ceiling.

John looked up from the newspaper. Sherlock must have either finished his experiment, not garnering the result he'd hoped, or it had to sit for further examination at a later time and Sherlock was now bored. John had been meaning to have a discussion with Sherlock since the hospital and now seemed the perfect opportunity- he would have Sherlock's full attention.

"She was wrong you know," said John.

"Who?" Sherlock pulled his head up off the back of the chair to look at John.

"Harry," said John, staring at Sherlock like he was looking straight into his soul. "What she said at the hospital. I heard her. In fact, I think the entire hospital must have heard her." John set his newspaper down and rose from the chair, moving to stand above Sherlock. "You're not the worst thing that's ever happened to me." John knelt between Sherlock's legs, wincing as the muscle in the calf of his bad leg protested. He took Sherlock's hands in his own and said, "You are without a doubt the very best thing that has ever happened to me." John quoted Whitman, "For you the flag has flung. For you the bugle trills."

Sherlock's mouth made a thin line, as it generally did when he became emotional, and he moved forward in the chair. He ran his hand through John's hair and down the side of his face while simultaneously bringing the other hand up to cup the other side of John's face. "So, my Captain, what shall we do now 'that the voyage is close and done'," a Whitman paraphrase that was not lost on John, this being a familiar dance between the blogger and his detective.

"Well, mister mysterious cheekbones," John sat up and mirrored Sherlock's touches from the moment before, "Thought we might play pirate before they remove the eye patch."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "John, are you sure that's wise? I didn't think you were interested in that right now. Remember what the doctor said."

"Well, I'm a doctor too, have you forgotten? Plus, it all depends on you matey," John said in his best 'Pirate' voice. "How do you feel about walking the plank?" John gave Sherlock a wink from the un-patched eye.

"John," said Sherlock, a grin creeping onto his face, "are you winking or blinking at me?"

John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock leaned into the kiss and opened his mouth to allow John's tongue access. Tenderness gave way to passion as Sherlock and John vied for control of each other's mouth. Finally they parted, each breathing heavily.

"That is unless you're disinclined to acquiesce to my request." John smiled wickedly.

Sherlock leaned back into the chair bringing John with him. "My good man, I'm inclined to acquiesce to your every request. Sherlock's hand found its way to bare skin on John's back.

John's position in the chair was ideal for the shorter of the two. Sitting on Sherlock's lap as he was gave John the advantage of looking down into his lover's eyes as he possessed his mouth once more. John fisted Sherlock's hair pulling his head back to give him access to Sherlock's alabaster neck.

"Oh, god…John," moaned Sherlock as John kissed and sucked on his neck, marking him. Sherlock gripped John tighter than he thought possible, pressing his growing erection into John as he sat astride.

"Mm… that feels good, Sherlock," John hummed as he moved to suck and nibble on Sherlock's ear. Between nibbles John whispered "I love you", causing Sherlock to immediately flash back to that day not so long ago on the moor.

John felt Sherlock tense beneath him. "What is it Sherlock, what's wrong? John moved back to look at him.

"I almost lost you, John." Sherlock's eyes were welling with tears. "That can never happen, and I will do anything and everything to make sure that doesn't happen. You mean so much to me." Sherlock reached up and caressed John's face. "Before you, my life had no meaning, no purpose. I was just going through the motions. You are my balance, with you I'm at an even keel." Sherlock's crystalline blue eyes were searching John's face. "When I saw you lying on the moor, I just…" Sherlock's voice trailed off.

John could feel Sherlock shaking beneath him. Gently, John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair to calm him. Sherlock's eyes closed as he let himself be soothed. John leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I'm right here. You saved me you wonderful man, and I will always and forever be yours."

John leaned in for another kiss. Sherlock relaxed once again, granting John's tongue access as the kiss became all consuming.

Sherlock's hands worked their way under John's jumper and up his back.

The pressure of John's erection was making his current position in Sherlock's lap impossible to maintain, so with one fluid movement he grabbed Sherlock's hands and stepped back out of the chair pulling Sherlock up and out with him as he did.

Sherlock's hands immediately went to John's trousers unbuttoning and undoing the zip. He then slid his hands in and under the waistband of John's pants pushing both trouser and pants down to pool at John's ankles. Pulling John closer with one hand, Sherlock took the other and stroked John's cock. Pumping it, thumbing the slit and spreading the wetness over the head.

"Sherlock, oh god, yes…fuck…don't stop", John moaned as his head lolled backward.

Sherlock took advantage of John's exposed neck, leaning in to kiss and suck an area under John's right ear. "John", Sherlock whispered. "My Captain," he said; his voice was low and rumbling like thunder.

"Mm, yes…yours," John breathed.

Still focused on John's neck and earlobe, Sherlock released John's member and took a step forward bringing John with him as he did. John stepped out of the clothes that were gathered at his feet and began moving backwards with Sherlock towards the bedroom.

John pulled Sherlock's shirt free from his trousers and began unbuttoning it. By the time they'd reached the bedroom, Sherlock's chest was bared completely and John was lapping a nipple.

"Ungh," Sherlock grunted. "John. Oh yes. There. Yes." Sherlock backed John up to the bed and leaned forward so that John was now on his back lying on the bed.

John licked his lips, his cock twitching in anticipation as he watched Sherlock divest himself of the rest of his clothes.

"God, you are so beautiful," said John staring at the naked man in front of him. Unable to contain himself any longer, he sat up from the bed and grabbed Sherlock by the waist. Using his tongue, John licked the underside of Sherlock's cock from base to head darting his tongue into the slit as he reached the tip.

"Christ!" Sherlock yelled, alarmed at the sudden contact.

"Hmmm," John hummed, still mouthing back and forth on Sherlock's cock. Reaching up, John cupped Sherlock's balls, giving them a light squeeze.

Sherlock's head began to swim. He needed to lie down before he fell down.

Having made it onto the bed, Sherlock found John determined as ever. John licked Sherlock's pelvic crevice sending a shiver up Sherlock's spine, making his cock twitch and leak more fluid.

This did not go unnoticed by John. "Wet. So. Wet." He said moving to suck Sherlock off once more.

Sherlock's hips bucked upward with want. "Mouth…so…huh…oh…hot…yes…" was all he could say as he fisted his hand in John's hair.

John looked up and met Sherlock's eyes, each seeing the fire burning within the other. John moved up the bed kissing every part of Sherlock as he went, hesitating on each nipple to give them a nibble. Reaching Sherlock's mouth, John immediately parted his lips and sent his tongue probing.

Sherlock could taste himself on John's lips and it made his cock throb even harder.

"Inside. I need you. Inside, please John." Sherlock begged.

There was a rustling as John reached over into the nightstand and then he moved back down the bed to begin licking and sucking Sherlock again. This time, John lifted Sherlock's leg up and pulled apart his arse cheeks. John had perfect access now and he moved in to lick Sherlock's hole, pushing his tongue through sphincter muscle making Sherlock writhe and moan.

"Mm… Juh…oh ..guh. Yes! Now, John…I need…inside… me…"

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the air as John lathered his fingers and cock with lube.

Gently pushing a finger inside Sherlock, John leaned forward and sucked on his balls, then moved once again to his lover's cock. Carefully, John inserted another finger, moving them around to massage over Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock bit his lip at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body. "Now, John…now...I'm ready…please!" he said desperately.

John removed his fingers and immediately replaced them with his cock, pushing into Sherlock, feeling the muscles close around him. "Christ!" John cried.

Letting the initial wave of pleasure and pain die down, John began to move again. "God, Sherlock. You feel amazing. So amazing," he said thrusting forward slowly.

"Ungh, harder….John…faster…go…need … more," said Sherlock looking straight into and through John hovering above him.

John picked up his pace. He wasn't going to last much longer. "Sher…can't …going to…," he said still managing to keep the pace up. John grabbed the headboard for added leverage and gave a few more powerful thrusts finally sending him over the edge. "SHERLOCK!" he screamed as the climax overtook him.

"Juh, John!" cried Sherlock soon after - pitching forward and hitting his head on John's chest.

John eased out of Sherlock and moved to nestle under his arm. A mix of sweat and semen glistened off both men.

Sherlock's eyes were closed and John thought he might already be asleep, but he pulled John to him and kissed the top of his head.

Sherlock opened his eyes as a tear streaked down his face, "I love you John Watson; like I've never loved anything else."

John looked up and replied, "And I love you Sherlock Holmes, until all my days are done and then some."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I guess that's really it then. Mark this one complete!
> 
> Many, many, MANY thanks to everyone that has taken the time to read my story. It means a lot, and has given me great encouragement to continue writing. There are a few bits and pieces throughout the story that I've put in intentionally to connect with another story that's in development right now so I hope you'll come back and read that one once it's finished.
> 
> Super-duper hugs and thanks to my beta(s) for RTB - Especially you Texty for being so patient and giving me the tools (read cheat sheet) to put a proper fic together. Love you, there and back again, my friend. xx


End file.
